


Underneath This Skin

by prince_dejah



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Gun Violence, M/M, Mild Language, Minor Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Stucky - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-03-07 15:11:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prince_dejah/pseuds/prince_dejah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had lost him once. It was quite possible that would happen again.<br/>________________________________________________________________<br/>In the aftermath of the collapse of SHIELD, Steve continues to search for Bucky whether he wants to be found or not. <br/>As Bucky learns about what he did during his time as the Winter Soldier, and as Steve struggles with who they have become in their time apart, is there any hope of reconciliation?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Home We Made

**Author's Note:**

> "He doesn’t know which is worse, a past he can’t regain or a present that will destroy him if he looks at it too clearly. Then there’s the future. Sheer vertigo."  
> -Margaret Atwood

It was a sticky summer night when they first kissed, the heat seemed to press down, sweat stained shirts clung to their torsos. Usually evening offered a respite from the scorching of the day, but not this time. The white sun had set only an hour ago, the sky still stained with pinks and purples and it continued to be oppressively hot.

Days like this made Steve hate being cooped up in the little apartment that he and his mother shared where it was generally just as hot on the inside as it was on the outside. Most times he was stuck inside due to one medical hindrance or another. Sometimes his asthma was giving him a hard time and he would lie on his bed, coughing and wheezing. Other times there was too much pollen in the air and if he so much as opened a window, he would sneeze so hard he thought his nose would fall off.  But today he was inside because he wanted to be, nothing outside held any interest for him. Yesterday had been worse but today wasn't much better. He ached all over and was in a rather “disagreeable mood” as his mother had told him.

She was standing just outside his room by the hall mirror, getting ready for the night shift. Her uniform had been starched, though not recently, and her hair was pinned up and out of the way, making her look older than she actually was.

“Steve, are you just gonna mope around or are you actually gonna do something this evenin’?”she had asked, pulling on her pretty white shoes. “Thought for sure you’d be want’n to get outside since your allergies aren't botherin’ you.”

Steve just shrugged, and continued to stare out the window. There was a group of birds taking off from a power line, their wings spreading smoothly as they glided together.

“Is James doin’ anything? Why don’t you give ‘im a call?” she kept pressing.

“Probably busy…” Steve mumbled.

His mother sighed, finished applying her lipstick and came into his room. She gently sat down next to him on the bed, the mattress sinking even lower, if that was possible. Steve could smell the soap on her skin that mixed with her floral perfume, a scent that Steve knew and loved. “Well, I hope you get out of this place, it’ll do you a lot of good, I know it, ” she kissed the top of his head. “Feel better, okay? I love you.”

Steve couldn't help but smile. Even when he was feeling like shit, his mother’s soothing presence and soft words often improved his mood, maybe not by much, but every bit counted. “Love you too,” he said, giving her a quick hug.

His mother smiled and squeezed back. She then got off the bed, her heels clicking on the floor as she made her way to the front of the apartment. There was a pause, she must have grabbed her purse, and then she called “I’ll see you later tonight, Steve!” as the front door closed.

Five minutes hadn't even passed before Steve had gotten on his shoes and slammed the door shut.

He didn't know what Bucky was doing and he didn’t really care. Well that wasn’t true, he supposed. Steve hoped he was doing nothing so that they could do something together. He hadn't seen Bucky in a few days, mostly because of Bucky’s new summer job working at Old Frank’s Grocery where all he did was stock shelves and move crates. Bucky hadn’t said a whole lot about it, just that it was boring and didn’t pay very much.  He had picked up a few extra shifts for someone else, so the two of them hadn’t seen much of each other recently.

As Steve went down the stairs of his apartment building and out onto the street, he hoped and hoped that Bucky wasn’t working tonight. He’d sure look dumb if no one was there, coming all that way for nothing, though it’d probably be even worse if Bucky’s ma answered the door. She’d probably smile and shake her head, then ask if Steve wanted Bucky to call him later or stop by and then Steve would probably blush and mutter a “no thank you” before running back to home.

They didn’t live far from each other, Bucky was only a few buildings over actually. It wasn’t exactly nice, but definitely nicer than Steve’s, and maybe that’s why they were always at Bucky’s. He never really complained about how small his room was or about how thin the walls were or how there wasn’t always running water. Even though he would always talk about leaving, Bucky never seemed ungrateful for what he had, however small or troublesome. It just seemed to Steve that this apartment, this city, wasn’t enough for him.

There was a whole, wide, world that Bucky wanted to see, and he would constantly blab on and on about books like _Treasure Island_ and _Gulliver’s Travels_ where there was adventure and excitement. His mother would bring him all sorts of books home, sometimes for his birthday, other times because she just wanted him in the house and off the streets. When they were kids, Bucky would pull out old issues of _National Geographic,_ and they would cut out pictures of far off mountains, vast oceans, crumbling city ruins, and deep jungles and tape them up on Bucky’s wall. As the years went by, that wall became covered with those pictures. 

“You and me, Stevie,” Bucky would say, looking at the collage they had made, his face split into one of his wide-toothed smiles. “We’re gonna see it all.”

Then they had started to grow up, started to realize just how poor they were, and that their dreams might never be in reach. Now most of the books that Bucky had read when he was younger were piled under his bed, collecting dust. The photographs they had tacked up were now crinkled and yellowed with age. But Steve still remembered how Bucky’s face used to light up, how his eyes sparkled as he talked excitedly about his dreams. And remembering how his mouth quirked up in a giant grin, how his hands flew everywhere as he used them to explain his thoughts, how passionate he could be, Steve didn’t know it then, but that was when he first started to fall for Bucky.

Now that they were older, Steve was more awkward, more unsure of himself, especially around Bucky. He noticed that he wouldn’t always know where to put his hands, that he would blush when Bucky called his name, and he hated himself for it. They had been friends for years, why was it suddenly weird and uncomfortable when they were together? Maybe it really wasn’t, maybe Steve was just being paranoid, he didn’t know.

It was true that they hadn’t seen much of each other lately because of Bucky’s job, but Steve had also been kind of avoiding Bucky. He wasn’t even sure why, he wasn’t angry with him or anything. It was just...every time he thought about Bucky, his heart sped up and his hands got sweaty, and he sure as hell didn’t want Bucky to see him like this. So for the past few days, he had just sulked around his apartment, frustrated with himself.

But something about that evening, maybe it was the heat that made him stupid or maybe it was his mother who kept pushing him, whatever it was made him get off his lazy ass, push down his nervousness, and go over to Bucky’s.

 Thank God he only lived on the second floor, his apartment building didn’t have an elevator and Steve probably would have died long ago if he had to climb more than two flights of stairs. Skipping the last step, Steve opened the stairwell door and went into the hallway that wasn’t much cooler than outside. First left and then down two doors, and Bucky’s place was right there. Steve almost turned right back around, but he told himself that he was going to be brave so he went straight up to the door and knocked rather loudly.

“Coming!” Bucky yelled. Steve’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice.

Then there was a crash followed by a stream of curses. Steve smiled. Mrs. Barnes was definitely not home if Bucky was cussing that openly.

The door flew open, and there he was, completely disheveled and looking like he had just woken up.

“ Steve!” Bucky grinned, trying to comb back his unruly hair. He must have been somewhat self-conscious because then he tugged down his dirty tanktop, trying to make himself presentable.

“You have a nice nap?” Steve asked, a coy smile on his lips.

Bucky laughed. “I always knock over that stupid lamp when I wake up, don’t I?”

“Yup,” Steve nodded, strolling into the apartment.

The air was dead and still, occasionally broken by the slow whooshing of the old overhead fan, the only thing keeping the stuffy little apartment bearable. The fan didn’t even go fast enough to move the yellowed curtains, they hung like dead flowers against the sides of the living room window. Bucky’s ma had picked them up ages ago at some department store sale, and even though he always complained about how ugly the bright blue flowers looked, Steve knew that Bucky secretly liked those curtains. Years later, they still hung on the living room window, the bright blue flowers now a sad, faded, brownish color.

Steve noticed that Bucky’s work boots were thrown in the corner, next to the window. “You just get home?”

Bucky shut the front door and went over to the icebox. “Yeah, got home like an hour ago and fell asleep on the couch. Man, was I tired.” he pulled out two bottles of soda and tossed one at Steve which he almost missed catching.

“Work that bad, huh?”

Bucky shook his head. “You have no idea,” he took a deep drink from the bottle and let out a content sigh. Steve thought for sure Bucky would ask why he decided to drop by, and Steve was dreading the fact that he would have to tell him that he didn’t really know. But all he did was motion to the living room window. “Wanna sit out there? Might be cooler than this furnace.”

“Sure,” Steve replied, finishing off his soda. He left the bottle on the kitchen table and went onto the fire escape, wheezing at the exertion of pulling himself over the window ledge.

He didn’t remember when or why they started to sit out there on that old thing. Maybe it was when Bucky’s room became too small for the both of them, maybe it was so that they could shoot paper airplanes in the early morning, maybe it was to look at all the blinking city lights at night. But whatever the reason, it had now become a habit of the two, something they did on a regular basis whenever they were at Bucky’s.

Bucky hauled himself up onto the window ledge, pushed past those frayed, brown curtains, and plopped down onto the fire escape, the rickety mess of iron creaking and wobbling as he did so. Steve instantly grasped the sides of the railings.

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve said breathily. “Y’know, one of these days this thing is gonna collapse.”

Bucky snorted as he leaned against the wall, his wry, lean arms folding neatly behind his head, clearly still a little tired. “You say that every time, but it hasn’t yet.”

“Hmph,” Steve grunted, shifting over so the sharp brick wall wasn’t digging into his left side. Though his t-shirt was covering most of it, he could still make out the red bruises and cuts along his abdomen and forearm.

He had been cornered yesterday on the way home from picking up some groceries for his mother, the bullies from school having nothing better to do during summer break. He deflected most of the punches and kicks, (no matter what other people said, Steve knew how to fight) but he had been shoved too hard and too fast and now had minor, but aching injuries.

Bucky’s brow furrowed as he noticed Steve’s slight wince. “Steve….”

“It’s nothing,” Steve replied, looking annoyed. He hated it when people constantly worried about him, especially Bucky.

Bucky was always the tough guy, always the hero, always the good guy. He was the one who saved Steve’s scrawny ass on a consistent basis from kids at school, angry adults, Steve’s own stupidity, you name it, Bucky probably saved Steve from it. Which is why it pissed Steve off to the moon and back when Bucky constantly made a fuss over him. They both should be the heroes, the good guys, the tough guys. They both needed to have each other’s backs, not just Bucky constantly saving Steve. It just wasn’t fair, he never wanted to be a burden.

“Nothing my ass,” Bucky shot back, but dropped the matter.

Steve had a feeling that Bucky sometimes picked up on Steve’s frustrations which only made him more frustrated. Bucky was too considerate and caring for his own good, and the last thing Steve wanted was for him to feel guilty.

Steve sighed after a few minutes of silence. “Look, these bozos jumped me and I got a little hurt, okay?”

Bucky frowned and looked at Steve with so much concern that Steve immediately dropped his gaze. There wasn’t much space between them on that old fire escape but Bucky scooted closer to Steve anyway.

“Where?” he asked, those big eyes looking so worried.

Steve rolled his eyes and yanked up his shirt, immediately feeling spears of pain shooting up his side. He sucked in a breath.

Bucky looked like he wanted to say something, his lips even parted slightly. But all he did was gingerly reach out and touch Steve’s cuts and bruises with his calloused hands.

His fingers felt cool against Steve’s sweat-soaked abdomen, Bucky’s rough skin grazed his own hot skin. Steve kept his eyes focused on the floor, avoiding Bucky’s stare while trying to quell his racing heart.

The way he looked at Steve, not with pity or scorn but with such care and love...how his hands felt on Steve’s side, how his teeth sucked his lower lip as he frowned in concern, the way he gently touched his injuries, taking the greatest care not to hurt him. God, if these cuts and bruises didn’t kill him, James Buchanan Barnes certainly would.

“Who was it?” Bucky growled, now looking less concerned and more angry, his fists clenched.

“A bunch of nobodies, that’s who,” Steve said, knowing that Bucky wanted nothing more than to find whoever had hurt Steve and break their bones, something he had done on a few occasions.

“Steve...” Bucky frowned.

“You goin’ over there and beating the shit out of them isn’t going to solve anything,” Steve tried to reason.

“They’ll stop picking on you,” Bucky shot back.

“And then what? They’ll just find someone else to clobber.” Steve said, looking Bucky straight in the eyes. “I don’t mind fighting back, I can take it. They can push me down because I know that I can always get back up again. But there’s other people that they might turn to hurt who can’t get back up or can’t find the will to. If they stop picking on me, they’ll only pick on other people. So I’d rather it’d be this way, alright?”

Bucky stared long and hard at Steve, looking like he wanted to say something else. But he just gave a small, tired smile and shook his head.

“Don’t move, I’ll be right back,” Bucky said, sliding off the fire escape, and hopping back inside through the window.

“I’m moooovving,” Steve hollered, not actually moving at all. “I’m moooooving, gonna fall off..…”

Bucky seemed to have not even heard him, as there was no response, only loud banging noises coming from the far end of the apartment. After a minute or two, Bucky reappeared, one arm full of bandages and peroxide.

“Hold this,” Bucky said, shoving a roll of bandages in Steve’s direction as he clambered onto the fire escape.

“I can take care of myself,” Steve growled as he threw back the bandages in Bucky’s face.

“I know you can,” Bucky replied, catching the bandages. “But the thing is, you don’t have to. I’m with you, Steve. Always.”

Steve let out a deep breath, and said nothing as Bucky dipped a rag in peroxide. He knew he was being stubborn and stupid, but he wanted to be strong, strong enough that Bucky never needed to take care of him again, strong enough for him to take care of Bucky if the time ever called for it.

“Alright,” Bucky said quietly. “This is probably gonna hurt like hell.”

“Psh, it’ll be fi-FUCK,” Steve blurted as his felt the sting of the liquid on his cuts. He immediately wanted to jump up and down in pain, but instead he settled on swatting Bucky’s hand away.

Bucky let out a little laugh, small and sweet, a sound that made Steve’s heart flutter. “Told ya,” he said, dampening another rag.

“Didn’t think it’d be that bad,” Steve grumbled.

“Captain Rogers, ready for round two?” Bucky grinned, holding up the washcloth.

Steve rolled his eyes again, “I told you, Buck, don’t call me that, we ain’t kids anymore.”

“Alright,” Bucky said. “But I’m still Lieutenant Barnes. Now try not to whack me, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve replied, wincing as the rag hit his bruised skin. It still stung, but not as bad. He let out a shaky little breath. Bucky worked slowly and steadily, his fingers lingering as he washed Steve’s wounds clean.

“That’s all done,” Bucky said, putting down the washcloth and taking the roll of bandages. “We gotta bandage you up now, Steve.”

“ Fine,” Steve sighed, tugging his shirt up more.

Bucky made no move to start wrapping up his injuries, instead staring at Steve’s exposed abdomen. “This’ll go a lot easier if you shrug off your shirt,” Bucky admitted.

Steve turned red and he immediately wanted to hide his face. He wasn’t embarrassed or anything, they had seen each other shirtless plenty of times, jumping in the water of busted fire hydrants or when they were caught in the summer rain. But that was when both of them had their shirts off, it would be weird if Steve just took his off. Well that’s what he told himself anyway, it was probably more along the lines of the fact that they hadn’t been half-naked in front of each other since they were kids, and Steve wasn’t sure that things were same as they had been now that they were both sixteen.

“Fine,” Steve huffed, taking off his shirt. Once he had pulled it off, revealing his pale chest, thin and frail, ribs clearly visible, he pointed a bony finger at Bucky. “Now you gotta take yours off.”

“What?” Bucky sputtered. “Why?”

“Cause I don’t wanna look stupid all by myself, that’s why,” Steve shot back.

“So we’re gonna look stupid together?” Bucky said with a smirk.

“Yup.”

“Alright,” Bucky said, putting down the bandages. He quickly yanked off his sweat-stained tank top, and Steve immediately regretted his decision.

All that time running around and beating up bullies had made Bucky hard and rough, muscles starting to appear where baby fat was disappearing. His stomach and chest were smooth, tanned by the summer sun, the skin only broken by new and old scars here and there. It took everything Steve had to not stroke Bucky’s beautiful torso.

“Better?” Bucky asked, picking up the bandages again.

Steve shrugged which only made Bucky laugh. He reached over and carefully winded the bandages round and round Steve’s stomach, making sure that he covered the cuts while also trying not to hurt Steve.

Steve watched Bucky work, completely forgetting his own pain and instead seeing how Bucky looked, his eyes set and focused, a little ringlet of hair that fell across his forehead as his head was bowed, his shoulders tense and tight as he continued to wrap the bandages.

“There,” Bucky said quietly, tying the last bandage. “Now you owe me one,” He looked at Steve, that half-grin dancing across his face. “Jerk.”

Steve gave his own lopsided smile, and punched Bucky gently in the shoulder. “Punk.”

His hand lingered on Bucky’s shoulder, not very long, but long enough for Bucky to wrap his fingers around Steve’s hand. Steve’s breath caught in his throat.

Neither one remembered who leaned in first, Steve always claimed it was him, but nothing was for sure. What was certain though, is that they kissed, awkwardly and soft at first, then hard and rough. Their lips met, and Bucky gingerly held Steve close, careful not to hurt him, but then Steve was grabbing Bucky’s face and Bucky ran his fingers through Steve’s hair and down his back.

Bucky tasted like grit and iron, his skin dripping with sweat, his breath hot and heavy in Steve’s mouth. God, he was seeing stars, bright and hot stars, he felt like he was flying higher than the skyscrapers, and he felt like he was going to pass out.

After a while, Steve had to pull away because he was coughing, his goddamn asthma acting up again.

Bucky reluctantly pulled away, catching his own breath, saying nothing, just staring at Steve.

Eventually Steve stopped coughing, and they both looked at each other, not really believing what had just happened.

“Steve I didn’t mean for you to-” Bucky started, sounding like he was starting to apologize for what had been the best moment of Steve’s life.

“Oh, shut up.” Steve said, pulling Bucky closer towards him, and kissing him again.


	2. Back to Life

It's funny, what you remember right before you're about to die. So many people say that a person's life will flash before their eyes, but Steve didn't find that to be true. A moment in his life, yes, but not his whole life. Not that he was old enough to really have much of a life anyway. It was funny, that out of everything he had been through, he had remembered that summer night so long ago.

________________________________

He should have drowned. He should have been dead.

That’s what they told him when he woke up in the hospital, beaten and battered but breathing and alive. When that helicarrier crashed, Steve should have gone down with it. He didn’t remember much, just cold water flowing over him. It was a relief after all of the heat from the pain he had endured and from the fire that engulfed the airship. He remembered the sensation of falling, becoming weightless, floating for a while before tumulting into a rippling blue curtain. There was no room for air, no room to breathe. But that was alright, he didn’t need to go on anymore. It hurt too much to.

He was pretty sure he was unconscious by the time he hit the water, yet he recalled something else. Just as the light was fading away, there was this force, something that had pulled him fast and steady towards the light which had grown brighter. As much as he wanted to remember exactly what happened afterwards, he couldn’t. Then Steve was awake and very much alive and no one knew how. Not even him.

Months after the destruction of S.H.I.E.L.D, Steve kept searching for answers, for clues, for anything that would lead him to his lost friend. He had learned probably more than he ever wanted to know about the hell that both Natasha and Bucky went through, the ruthlessness of the KGB, the excruciating tortures, the constant lapse in memories, and how both would never be the same person again. Most of what Steve had learned he obtained through the leaked intel from S.H.I.E.L.D, the file Natasha had given him, and other miscellaneous internet databases. He would stay up far into the night, hunched over his tiny Mac, leafing through pictures and reading article after article. Often Steve would close his laptop, and stretch out on his couch as if to sleep, but he was unable to close his eyes. The horrors of what he had discovered had latched themselves onto his mind, a never ending film reel.

Sometimes Natasha would drop by to have coffee or to watch a movie, which often eased his mind. Just having someone else there, to not be alone with only his thoughts was a welcome respite. However her visits were few and far in between, probably only whenever Natasha was in the States, Steve guessed. The destruction of S.H.I.E.L.D had been hard on everyone with all the leaks that led to relocations and other hassles, but it had been extremely hard on Natasha. All of her covers, her lies, her past had been exposed, and she had to act fast. Which is why she had left soon after she had handed Steve that file, not saying where she was going or when she’d back. Steve had heard from Sharon that Natasha was all over the map, not on Fury’s or anyone else’s watch. He had a feeling that after what she had confessed when they were holed up at Sam’s, that she was tired of not knowing who the bad guys were. He guessed that she was working on exposing, maybe even eliminating the bad guys from her past, perhaps in a sort of act of atonement.

Whenever Natasha was around, she’d first text or call him in advance, letting him know that she would be dropping by. As if Steve had plans that might get in the way. She would usually breeze in, joking about what a shitty apartment Steve lived in, and how she always comes this close to getting mugged whenever she came over. Steve would smile and shake his head, knowing full well that Natasha could kill anyone that laid a finger on her in more ways that he could count. When Natasha walked by living room to get the creamer for the coffee or when Steve had fallen asleep on the couch during the movie, Natasha would glance over at the stack of papers and photos that were the only thing cluttering the small apartment.

Once Steve noticed her looking at a photo that he had found of Bucky, the last one before he went...missing. He was in his old army uniform, looking tired, but freshly shaved and genuinely smiling. Then Natasha glanced over at the one of him being put into ice, his frozen face vacant of expression. Her brow furrowed and she bit her lower lip, looking like she wanted to burn that photograph.

“Do you remember much?” Steve had ventured, knowing that she had her fair share of interactions with him, probably more than she let Steve know.

Natasha didn’t reply. Not at first. She kept staring at the photo, her eyes seemingly searching for something that wasn’t there.

“I try not to,” she finally said.

Steve decided to never try asking about her previous life again, but only after letting her know that he would always be here if she ever wanted to talk. Natasha smiled sadly, still looking at the photo.

It was late October when Steve saw him again, the first time since the fight on the Helicarrier. Steve had just gotten off the phone with Tony, and had taken a seat in warm coffee shop in Georgetown. It hadn’t exactly been the nicest of phone calls, Tony had yelled a little at Steve, and Steve had yelled a little at Tony. He kept pushing for Steve to move back up to New York where he could do a lot of good. His argument was that D.C. held nothing for Steve anymore, with S.H.I.E.L.D officially underground, and Fury working mostly covert missions. Steve had argued that he was needed here, in case Fury ever called him, which he had actually had, twice. Both times Steve declined.

Steve told himself that this was where his friends where, he couldn’t just leave them. But as much as he couldn’t admit it, he knew that they were just fine without him. Sam had built his own life in D.C., and Natasha was only here for the moment, she’d vanish in the next. Really, he had no reason to stay...but Steve just couldn’t bear the thought of returning to Brooklyn. It was home, yet it wasn’t. He knew every inch of those crowded streets, the rusty fire escapes, the mildewed alleyways, the old corner stores. He also knew that nothing was the same, those crumbling buildings gone, sleek skyscrapers in their place, the park he played in as a kid, torn down for the construction of new apartments. Bright, flashing, neon lights, loud, fast cars, bigger, better  buildings, everything was so different. And he was so lost.

When he had first woken up, he pushed down all of his confusion, his discomfort, his nervousness in trying to make sense of it all, trying to adapt. It was essential that he did, the attacks on New York, the formation of the Avengers, the fight against Loki and the Chitauri, everything required him to be Captain America, not Steve Rogers. Even when they had won that battle, he had to continue to put on that uniform, to put on his helmet and shield. In a way, it was sort of an armor that protected Steve from himself, from all of his fears and doubts. It was easier to focus on what Fury put in front of him, easier to follow orders and continue being the soldier, the leader that everyone expected him to be. It was a sort of elaborate distraction that kept his mind off his crumbling mental state. It was better to keep sight on the here and now than his inner turmoil.

But god was it hard. He had managed at first, keeping up this illusion that he was alright, that he was adjusting, adjusted. Then, when Steve had recognized those cold, empty eyes that stared blankly at him, when he called out to Bucky who didn’t even know his own goddamn name, that was when cracks started to show in his facade. He was not okay, but he was fine, Captain America needed to be fine. So he kept his head up, kept going, and kept hiding what was really going on. People had always told Steve he was a terrible liar, and maybe he was, but he was good at avoiding his own fears, he was really good at that. But on that helicarrier, he could no longer pretend that he was okay, he could no longer run from what terrified him.

His heart was flying out of chest, he was struggling to stand, he was couldn’t see straight. It was him, no it wasn’t. He was there, right in front of Steve, no he wasn’t. Bucky was gone, not human any longer. No recognition, no remembrance, no mercy. Only a mission.

Steve wanted to yell, to cry out, to scream at him, to make him understand and to make him remember. Bucky was slowly killing his best friend, and Steve was letting him do it. Yet it felt so good, being that close to death, getting the shit beat out of him because he deserved it. Every punch, every stab was nothing compared to what he felt when he looked at the monster that his lover had become.

After Steve had been found onshore, barely breathing, but breathing, he was actually breathing, that’s when everything flooded out, all of his frustrations and lamentations. Everything that he had tried so hard to suppress had resurfaced. The first few days, he couldn’t sleep because everytime he tried, there were only nightmares and flashbacks, and sometimes the flashbacks were far, far worse. He barely ate. He was never hungry and when he tried to eat something, everything had the same bland taste. He was restless, constantly taking runs in the middle of the night, finding himself staring at nothing for hours, standing in the shower, not moving, letting the water run so long that it grew cold.

It was easier, he thought, when he woke up and they told him how much time had passed. It was easier to accept that everything he had ever loved was gone because it was the rational thing to assume. After all those years had passed, he would be in denial to assume anything else. It was harder to realize that there were still fragments of his past that remained, harder still to realize that those parts of his past had been broken and shattered by time.

Steve was afraid of time. He had lost so much of it yet it had taken so much from him. He had seen what it could do, he and Bucky were living proof of that. He had tried to come to terms with it when he had opened his eyes for the first time in seventy years. Yet he couldn’t. It took Steve’s life, and though now he was living, it came at a great cost. It took Bucky’s life, but he was not living at all. Steve couldn’t come to terms with that, he probably never would. Not then, and not now, especially not now.

Which is why he wasn’t ready to go back to New York. Not yet anyway.

 Tony couldn’t wrap his head around why Steve wanted to stay so badly, and after a few heated words, Steve had enough, hanging up while Stark was still yelling into the phone.

Steve had then ordered a small coffee, which was still seemed like a large to him, and tried to not think about anything. He knew he probably sounded so incredibly old, but he couldn’t help but think that everything was just moving too fast. He needed time to think, he needed time to slow down and process what was going on, he needed more time to-Steve stopped himself. He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes. This was never going to go anywhere it was best to just not think, he reasoned with himself as he sat down to sketch, something that didn’t always make him feel any better, but usually helped him focus on something else.

With swift and light lines, he captured the likeness of the people in the coffee shop. Not many people were here today, Steve noticed. But it was pretty nasty outside, with rain that splattered against the grimy window panes, and the wind that blew around the fallen leaves. There was were those two elderly men that came here almost everyday, a young woman with her little boy in the back, three talkative college students all huddled around a small table, and a man sitting alone in the corner near the front.

Walking up to get a refill, Steve went past the seat where the man in the corner had been, not really paying attention or noticing that the man was also walking up to get coffee. He felt someone bump into him just as he was about to fill his mug, the person murmuring a “sorry” before Steve turned around.

“No worries, pal-” Steve said as he looked up, his coffee mug swinging lightly in his hands.

There were no words, no cries of exclamations or distress. Only the heavy dead air between them. Steve couldn’t even breathe, let alone think or speak or move. It was him, yet it wasn’t. He instantly recognized those sad, serious eyes framed by a few loose locks of dark, tangled hair. But those eyes were the only things that held any familiarity. His face, which was usually twisted into a smirk, a grin, a laugh, a cynical smile, a serious frown, his face which was always so expressive and full of life, was now empty. His skin looked sickly pale and small, as if his scarred skin had been pulled too tight over his haggard face. Yet despite all of this, he was undoubtedly James Buchanan Barnes.

The empty mug crashed to the ground, the little slivers of  white ceramic scattering across the tiled floor.

“Buck…?” Steve whispered barely audible. He was surprised that he was able to say anything at all. His tongue felt heavy and his breaths came in short, uneven lurches. He felt...he didn’t know what he felt. But whatever it was, it hurt like hell.

Bucky’s eyes widened at first as if he was confused or shocked, Steve couldn’t really tell. Then something flashed across his face, and his eyes narrowed as if he was angry or repulsed. His mouth opened slightly, and he might have said something, but Steve couldn’t hear, his heart was beating too loud. He cautiously took a few steps towards him, but that was all Bucky needed, slowly walking backwards towards the door, shaking his head over and over as if to deny that any of this was happening. He said something else but it was too quiet.

Steve took another shaky step forward.

“Stay away,” Bucky spat, just loud enough for Steve to finally hear. Then he was out and into the rain.

Those two words cut into his stomach, wrenched his gut, and tore at his heart, leaving him weak and out of breath. But he pushed everything he felt aside. He had lost Bucky once, he was not about to lose him again.

“Bucky! Wait!” Steve yelled, as he sprinted out of the coffee shop. He saw Bucky running through the street, pushing past people, completely ignoring the honks of angry drivers, and other bewildered pedestrians. “Wait,” Steve called as his voice caught in his throat, his hand stretching out as if he was trying to reach Bucky, though he knew he was already gone.

Steve might have been able to catch up to  him if he ran, he could even hop on his motorcycle. But that look that Bucky had given him...it was angry and confused and completely guilt-ridden. And it was something that Steve knew might never go away. Standing out in the cold October wind, the rain quietly beating down on him, Steve never felt more helpless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another post-ca tws fic because im unoriginal and still sobbing over this movie. thanks for reading!


	3. Drifting

_Hands shaking, hard to breathe. Too bright, too loud. Faster, faster, go faster, run away. Still too bright, too loud. Farther, farther...then quiet, darkness._

Cold blackness stretched out its hands and enveloped him in a welcomed embrace. He sighed heavily, as if he had been holding his breath. Maybe he had been. Things started to fade in and out of focus, his world went soft at the edges. This was familiar, the forgetfulness an old friend, the unknown a comfort. There were white hot flashes of sharp pain at first, but he knew it would go away. It always did. Funny, how he remembered that.

He lay still, waiting for Pierce to finish what he had started. It was better that way, to give in, to let the memories and the lies to slip away from his mind. He was more efficient that way. He couldn’t let these things, these emotions and weaknesses, interfere with his work, no, he could not. So it was better not only for these things to disappear, but better for his work, better for Pierce, better for Hydra, better for mankind.

And he waited. He was good at that.

But this took too long...longer than normal. Well, he thought it was longer than normal, but he wasn’t quite sure.

Something flashed beneath his closed eyes. He frowned and ignored it, pushed it back further. It was better this way.

But that something did not go away, it churned at the surface of his consciousness, gathering strength until it broke free.

It was an image, a fleeting image that lasted no more than a few seconds. There was sunlight that filtered through frayed yellow curtains and fell onto a small face. A boy was sitting on the railing outside the window, staring at him. He looked….happy.

Then that something was gone.

His eyes snapped open, expecting immediate rebuke for violating procedure. Yet there was no chair, no operating table, no restraints. No fluorescent lights, no crowds of doctors, no dripping needles or electrical currents running through wires.

He couldn’t breathe, he didn’t understand. Where was he? Was this another assignment? Was he supposed to be outside with no gear? Had he simply forgotten what he was supposed to do? What kinds of punishment would he receive for forgetting orders?

His world started to come into focus, the edges grew harder and sharper. Things weren’t as dark now, he made out shapes and shadows. Bricks and iron. Pavement and dirt. Buildings and dumpsters, a narrow alleyway. He felt the ground under his feet, the cold of the bricks against his back. Things flooded back to him.

_“Bucky?”_

A face that begged for recognition, for remembrance.

_“You’re my friend.”_

A lie that was too kind to be true,

 _“I’m with you til the end of the line._ ”

A memory.

No.

He didn’t have those anymore, not real ones, not ones that mattered. Yet whatever, whoever he was before the Winter Soldier, knew that man. And he had saved that man. He had saved the famous Captain America. Why? Because he knew that his mission was at its end? Because he had finally found the freedom to make his own decisions? Because for once in his entire fucking life he might actually be capable of doing something good? Not something Pierce or whoever was currently his god at the moment told him was good, but something that he felt was good, was right. And morality was a luxury, the lines between good and bad often redrawn, blurred out, wiped away completely depending on who he was working for. For him to feel like saving Rogers, that this Bucky had known was the right thing to do, that scared him.

To have that power, for him to decide what he felt was right or wrong, to have his own sense of judgement...terrified him. But maybe it wasn’t just because he wanted to have that power, maybe he saved Rogers because there was a part of him, the human part, that was telling the machine part that he had known him, that he did know him.

But what was the point? It didn’t matter, the person that man had known had died long ago. He remembered reading the exhibit excerpt...

_“Lieutenant James Buchanan Barnes was Captain America’s closest comrade. They grew up together, inseparable on the schoolyard and on the battlefield, Barnes always keeping an eye out for Rogers. And even when Rogers became Captain America, the two were hardly ever apart, working and fighting the Axis Powers side by side. Sadly, Lieutenant Barnes was the only member of the Howling Commandos to give his life in the line of duty. He went missing in action on a mission in the mountains of Germany, his body was never found.”_

Was that who Rogers was looking for? Was this who he had been before?

It didn’t matter, the person that man had known had died long ago.

But if it really didn’t matter, then why did he run from Rogers? Why did his throat close up, why was it hard for him to stand? Why did he tell that man to “stay away” as if he knew that Rogers would come after him? He knew that Rogers was no threat, he had practically let the Winter Soldier beat him to death, yet he knew that Rogers would follow him. Why come after someone who had tried to kill you...unless you knew that someone..and that someone knew you.

  
_Hands shaking, hard to breathe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is from bucky's point of view, there will be more switching of perspective in later chapters as well, hopefully this doesn't throw anyone off haha....


	4. Keep It Together

He had gone to that coffee shop every day after; waiting, hoping, praying that he could even catch a glimpse of his lost friend. It was such a stupid thing to do, Steve told himself. Bucky had a million reasons to leave D.C. and not one single reason to stay. And he could go anywhere, anywhere at all.There was little chance that Steve would ever catch even a glimpse of him again, no one else ever had. He was a ghost, slipping undetected from one place to the next, not really living anywhere, not really living at all.

Yet, he _had_ seen him, he had caught a little more than a glimpse of him. It didn’t make any sense, it had been over three months since the destruction of S.H.I.E.L.D and Pierce’s death, yet Bucky, for the moment, remained in D.C. Why? What was the point? He was no longer Hydra’s puppet, he could go anywhere he wanted.  But the more Steve thought about it, maybe that was why he had stayed, he had all of this freedom that he was probably so unaccustomed to, he might not know where to go. Then again, it had been three weeks since Steve had last seen him...

Right after he had lost sight of Bucky, Steve drove straight over to the first person he could think of that might be able to help.

Natasha had just finished packing up the last of her clothes, getting ready to leave D.C. again after a meeting with Fury and Hill. Only in town for a day and a night, she had told Fury that she could manage on her own, but he booked her a motel room anyway. Steve found it not twenty minutes after he had seen Bucky. Natasha was surprised to hear the buzzer go off, and immediately slipped her handgun out from her suitcase. She cautiously approached the door, not wanting to alert whoever was out there. She silently cocked her gun, but after checking the peep hole, and seeing her favorite blond, Natasha grinned and opened the door. The light from the living room lamp spilled out onto the doorway, illuminating Steve who was standing on the cement, sopping wet and looking like he was about ready to cry.

Steve told her everything, though there wasn’t much to tell. Natasha listened to him as he sighed and sunk into the motel bed, the rusty springs groaning as he did so. She tried to offer words of condolences, but she was never really good at that. So she simply reached out and squeezed his hand.

After that, Steve continued to go to the coffee shop, even on the days that it felt more stupid and pointless than usual. Sam would come with him sometimes to talk or just sit and munch on pastries. Usually when they did talk, it was about trivial things, what had been on TV last night, how bad the traffic was...Sam knew that Steve didn’t really care about any of that, but he knew that Steve didn’t really want to talk about what was going on. Or if Steve did, he didn’t want to burden Sam. Steve was like that, which might have been fine with other people, but not Sam. If something was bothering someone, Sam wanted to know. Even if he wasn’t always able to help, he still wanted to know, to offer advice, to listen, or to at least provide a shoulder to lean on.

It had been about three weeks when Sam finally said something.

“Look man, I know this is hard,” Sam started. “And I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now. After Riley died, I felt numb, I felt angry, like everything that had happened was my fault. It took time to finally come to terms with it all. Hell, I’m still coming to terms with it. It was probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever been through, but at least I had confirmation that he was dead. So I was able to deal with my grief properly. I know you weren’t able to...

Sam sighed and looked at Steve who was avoiding his gaze. “Honestly, I really don’t know what to tell you because what I went through was nothing like what you’re going through. I can’t even try to put myself in your shoes. But sometimes, well for me anyway, I found that taking my mind of this stuff, even for just a little bit, helps in the long run.”

Steve was looking at the floor, rolling his pencil in between his fingers, his brow furrowed. “Sam, I can’t-I need to know he’s okay-”

“You will,” Sam replied. “I think one way or another, he’ll come and talk when he’s ready to deal with everything. But until then, do you really want to come and sit here every day? I mean, no offense man, but the coffee ain’t exactly what I’d call drinkable.”

Steve smiled then, if only for a moment or two. “No, I guess I don’t....but what if he comes back and I’m not here? What if he’s looking for me but he can’t find me? What if he-”

“There are so many goddamn “what-ifs” that it is absolutely pointless thinking about it,” Sam said getting up from the table.

“Easier said than done,” Steve murmured as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his billfold to pay for the coffee.

“I know. I know,” Sam sighed. “But seeing you all tense and worried and sad...” he said, trailing off. “I just want things to get better for you, I want you to be happy.”

Steve felt anything but happy at the moment, in fact he couldn’t remember the last time he felt anything close to happy. He was just so confused and depressed and angry at himself. If he had only gotten to Bucky a little sooner before Hydra had taken him, if he had only reached out a little farther and grabbed Bucky’s hand on that speeding train  if he had only been able to try a little harder to toggle his memory on the helicarrier, if only he talked to him a little longer that night…

He could save the Allied Forces, the people of New York, and Washington D.C.,  but he couldn’t save his own friend. Steve almost laughed. The more he thought about this, the more it seemed like some sort of cruel joke that fate had thrown at him.

All of this was a joke, waking up in a completely different century, the world he knew dead and gone, his comrades and friends buried and forgotten long ago, his dancing partner’s beautiful mind being eaten alive as she lay trapped in her failing body, and his best friend...not in fact dead, but suffering a fate far, far worse. The “what-ifs” may have been pointless, but if that was true, then so was this nightmare he was living.

“Steve. Steve!” Sam said suddenly.

He glanced up then to see Sam’s concerned face filling his view, his worried eyes searching Steve’s.

“You alright?”

Steve looked down at his trembling hands, which had torn his leather wallet in half. He let out a shaky sigh that seemed to loosen his tense shoulders a bit, but he still gripped that torn wallet with nervous fingers. “Yeah….yeah I’m okay,” he said quietly. “I think…”

Sam had sat back down and leaned back once he saw that Steve was a little better. “I’m sure you don’t wanna talk about certain things, and if ripping wallets in half helps you deal with this stuff, then I’ll buy you fifty, okay?”

Steve let out a laugh, a sincere laugh that made his stomach hurt a little. “Thanks, Sam.”

He nodded in response. “It just hurts to see you like that, man….you looked like you were in a dark place.”

“Yeah….” Steve admitted.

“You ever need anything, you ever need someone to talk to, or help take your mind off things, well…” Sam said, getting up again. “I’m always here,” he said, clasping Steve’s shoulder.

Steve nodded, and finally let go of his wallet, shoving the pieces back into his pocket. By the time he had closed his eyes and took a deep breath, Sam was already heading out the doors.

“Hey, Sam!” Steve called out.

He turned his head just as he was about to open the door.

“Thank you…”

Sam gave a full-toothed grin, the little gap in his teeth showing, and nodded before walking out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i love sam wilson so much


	5. To Hold On

It was cold….so cold. Not the kind of cold that made you feel alive or the kind that you could escape from by wrapping up in layers or sitting by a fire. No, this was the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, the kind that stayed with you long after the wind and snow had ended, the kind that bit and clawed at your eyes and ears and filled your lungs with ice.

The snow wasn’t falling rather just continuing to blow in a never ending swirl of frost. The wind swept the snow forward and backward, constantly pushing and pulling, creating a sort of erratic rhythm. The wind would die down, then quickly pick back up. The world seemed to be an endless white canvas, stretching on and on. The only thing that broke this canvas was the soft footprints that would soon too be swept away.

Steve was exhausted, but he wasn’t sure how long he had been trudging through this blizzard. His heavy coat felt like it was cemented to his back, and his fingers were brittle and blue, he might have had gloves on at one point, but they were gone now. Numb could not begin to describe his feet as they moved up and down without really any connection to the rest of his body. He knew he was wearing boots...he just couldn’t feel them anymore. He couldn’t really feel his arms anymore either as they swung heavily at his sides, back and forth, back and forth, as he continued to trek through the deep snow.

It seemed like he was supposed to be following these footprints, but everytime he felt like he was getting closer, the faster the footprints would disappear. He went on for hours, blindly following whatever was leading him.

The footprints eventually stopped, and so did Steve. Standing in the middle of the storm, shielding his eyes from the icy blast, he had no idea where to go or what to do. Did he move forward and just forget about the footprints he had been following? Or try and retrace them...surely they couldn’t have all blown away?

His answer was just a few paces ahead of him. Barely visible was a gray figure that seemed to shimmer in and out of focus like a mirage.

Steve called out to the figure, his voice hoarse, as if he’d been shouting for a long time. He wasn’t sure who it was, but something was pulling him towards that figure, perhaps a sense of familiarity or curiosity. He kept trudging, and calling out. The figure did not respond, and it did not move.

As Steve slowly approached, he saw the figure take the shape of a man. He shouted again, louder, cupping his raw, bleeding hands over his mouth. The figure did not hear him, so Steve tried to run to him, but the snow was too high and too thick.

Steve shouted again, almost screaming, and finally Bucky turned his head.

Steve could have cried right then and there, but he kept pushing forward, so eager to run to him, to hold him in his arms again,  to tell him that everything was going to be alright.

Finally, Steve was able to get close enough to really see Bucky. Steve was smiling and laughing, and saying how he couldn't believe that he had finally found him, but something was wrong. Bucky was dressed in his tattered, old army uniform, the dark green wool contrasting the swirling snow, his short hair staying in place despite the harsh wind. His jacket was ripped and torn, covered in dark stains. His face fared no better with cuts and bruises that looked fresh. Bucky said nothing as Steve approached him, his light eyes expressionless, framed by dark circles. He was here, yet he wasn’t. His face was devoid of any emotion or sign that he recognized his best friend. Steve was confused, and reached out to touch his arm when he finally approached him.

As soon as Steve’s fingers touched the rough fabric, Bucky’s left arm simply detached and fell silently onto the ground. It lay there, staining the white blanket of snow a dark crimson as blood seeped from it.

Steve’s eyes widened, his mouth agape as he left his hand hang in midair, unable to process what had happened.

Bucky didn’t even look at his own dismembered arm, but rather he looked at Steve, as if seeing him for the first time, with a look that was so furious yet so incredibly sad.

Steve’s hands were shaking as tried to reach out to Bucky, so terrified of touching him again yet unable to pull away. He whispered Bucky’s name, but it slipped away in the wind.

Bucky tried to say something, but once he opened his mouth, thick, red-black blood poured from his lips and out onto the snow. He looked at the ground in horror at the silt and gunk mixed in with the blood that had vomited from his mouth. He started coughing, hard and fast, over and over again, trying to rid himself of whatever was plaguing his lungs. Eventually he stopped coughing and tried to speak, to only find more blood gushing out. Realizing that he couldn’t make this go away, he immediately tried to cover his mouth with his good hand, but then that was dripping with wet blood too.

Steve moved closer to Bucky, but he instantly recoiled, stumbling back into the snow, trying to cover his mouth that was now spewing with blood, that was darker and thicker. He tried to cough, but now there was too much blood. Steve knew that he could barely breathe, let alone cough. Soon Bucky would suffocate, yet every time Steve tried to help him, Bucky angrily shoved him away, falling back into the snow farther away, his stumblings leaving a long, dark gash in the white canvas.

Whether it was a rush of adrenaline or something else, Steve was able to catch up to Bucky who had tried putting as much distance as he could between them. He dropped to the ground right next to where Bucky had just collapsed, no longer trying to crawl away. Bucky’s entire face was smeared with red, his soft skin wet with blood as Steve dragged his thin, heaving body near his own. He took Bucky into his arms, cradling his head that seemed so fragile as he pulled him closer. The snow was coming down harder now, the winds screeching and howling around the pair, tearing at Steve’s face.  He leaned towards Bucky until their foreheads were almost touching, trying to shield him from the storm.

But Bucky kept having horrible spasms that racked his body, trying to use all the strength he had left to rid his lungs of that dark liquid. _Oh god, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he is suffocating! Somebody, do something, oh god, oh god._ Too much coughing and wheezing and blood, blood thrown up everywhere. Dark stains sprouting like blooming flowers, rich velvet flowing out, pouring out, spewing out. 

Steve kept holding on to him, trying to keep him from slipping under, screaming for help. Until suddenly Bucky stopped coughing all together, and went silent.

Steve tried to gently shake Bucky, to get him to keep coughing so that he could breathe easy again. Bucky was motionless, he mouth open in a slight “o” that had finally stopped spewing blood. Yet there was no cold breath that filled his lungs, no desperate gasps for dead air. His eyes were empty and open, as if he was simply staring at the carnage that covered the snow.

Steve’s bloodied hand gripped Bucky’s, tears blurring his vision as he dropped his head onto Bucky's empty chest.

And the snow kept falling


	6. Forgetting and Remembering

Steve’s eyes flew open, and he quickly sat up, propelling himself awake. His breaths came in short, uneven gasps. His heart missed several beats, and his shirt was wet with sweat to where it clung to his back. For several moments, Steve couldn’t figure out where he was. There was bright light that filled the room, which didn’t make any sense because he was outside….maybe he was still…. He threw off the papers and pillows off his couch, searching for someone he realized was never there.

Slowly, his breathing came easier, and Steve sighed as he dropped his head into his hands. He was back in his apartment, but really, he had never actually left. Looking at the mess of papers and the bright sunshine that was filtering through the cheap blinds on his windows, he knew he must have fallen asleep on his couch again. Natasha had told him that he was only hurting himself by staying up late into the night, analyzing files and photographs that he had already read a thousand times over. He had ignored her advice, thinking that it couldn’t really affect him except for maybe making his back a little sore.

Rubbing his head, and trying to forget about what he had dreamt about, he knew that she had been right. The more Steve thought about it, she was probably speaking from experience. He had been an idiot, not to listen to her, or Sam for that matter. This, this overanalyzing and stressing and worrying, was doing absolutely nothing except giving him god-awful nightmares. Steve didn’t want to admit it, but he knew that he needed to stop thinking about...everything. ~~If~~ When Steve finally found Bucky, he realized that he needed to be healthy, to be strong in order to help him deal with all that he was going through.

Stretching his arms, he got up off his couch, and instantly regretted it, feeling like someone had drop-kicked him in the gut. He must have not eaten last night…but instead of trying to remember what had happened, his mind went to another night, over eighty years ago.

Sometimes when Bucky was late coming home from whatever odd job he had for the day, which happened more than Steve liked, Steve saved whatever they had in their dirty little ice box for him to eat when he got home. Steve would hear the heavy stomps of boots coming up the apartment steps, the jangling of keys in the door, even though they hardly locked it-there was nothing really to steal. (Well that was kind of a lie, there was Bucky’s pistol, and all of Steve’s sketchbooks.) The door would push open, Bucky would curse because that door always gave him splinters, and Steve would call him a wuss, laying out “supper” for Buck which was often nothing more than a couple green beans and some baloney. But Bucky loved it, and he would get all sentimental, ruffling Steve’s hair and planting a kiss on Steve’s cheek. Bucky was really only this affectionate at home, it was....well it was different outside their little apartment. Bucky was still his best friend, but sometimes it was as if that's all they were. And Steve wasn't sure how he felt about that. But here, when they were all alone, Steve could pretend that maybe they had something more. After Bucky would croon about how great supper looked, Steve would make a face, and shove Bucky away, saying how Bucky could only eat after he took a goddamn shower, boy did he stink. After, when Bucky had already passed out on their bed (they only had enough money for one and they never minded sharing), Steve’s stomach would grumble and he selfishly wished that he was the one that had gotten supper, instead of giving everything to Bucky. But then he would turn over and see Bucky’s mouth open, his breaths coming slow and soft, and the rise and fall of his chest underneath his tattered old shirt. And then he didn’t mind being so hungry any more.

 Steve sighed and rubbed his head as if trying to clear the memories that seemed to suddenly resurface more and more. He walked over to his small kitchen, opening the fridge. It was pretty bare except for a half-empty bottle of orange juice and some really old Italian food that Sam bought ages ago. Steve opened the styrofoam box to one crusty piece of lasagna that smelled like it was ready to be trashed. He winced and shut the fridge. He thought about quickly running down to the little convenience store about a block away to pick up some resemblance of breakfast, probably one of those microwavable burritos, then realized that he didn’t actually have a microwave. Well, now that he thought about it, he did have a microwave, he just never got around to actually taking it out of the box.

Steve decided to bug Sam, knowing he was probably already up getting ready for a run. Taking out his smart-phone he texted Sam, typing very slowly, his brow furrowed in concentration.

He had never really gotten the hang of typing on a slippery glass screen by only using his thumbs that seemed far too large for something so small. So a lot of times, his texts had misspelled words that even autocorrect couldn’t help him fix or his words got all jumbled and made no sense. Luckily he didn’t text very often, and it was really only to a few people that didn’t make fun of him for not being completely adept at it. Steve had thought for sure that Natasha would tease him, but she only replied with little frowny faces or question marks when she couldn’t understand what Steve had tried to type out. Stark on the other hand, called him a geezer every time he texted him, which, for that reason, was not very often.

A few seconds after he had sent the text, his phone vibrated on the countertop, sounding like a really angry cow. Steve jumped at the sound- he would never get used to that-and picked up his phone to check the message.

Steve smiled and put his phone into his pocket, noticing that he had been wearing the same pair of sweatpants for the past two days. Though it was just breakfast with Sam, Steve decided to take a quick shower and change into some fresh clothes.

Soon after that, there was a quiet knock on the door.

“Come in,” Steve yelled, as he pulled on his shoes, a pair of holey converse that he had since New York. It was nice that some things that he grew up with were still around, even if they were expensive as hell.

* * *

 

He didn’t remember how much those shoes were back in his day, but he remembered being very jealous on the first day of fifth grade where Bucky had strolled down the street, meeting up with Steve to walk to school together, sporting a brand new pair of bright, red converse. Steve had being asking for a new pair of shoes ever since his last birthday, specifically those bright red converse that he had seen in the window of the shoe store. But his mother said the only new shoes he would be getting were a pair of corrective shoes that his doctor had told her to get him. Buck had the biggest, smuggest grin that Steve had ever seen, and Steve wanted nothing more than to throw Bucky down a flight of stairs and take those stupid shoes.

“So….” Bucky said, trying to sound casual as they walked towards the school yard. “Notice anything different ‘bout me?”

“Nope,” Steve replied. He kept staring straight ahead, he was not about to let Bucky play this little game.

“Nothin’, at aaaaall?” Bucky stretched out the last word as he hopped in front of Steve, clearly trying to show off his new shoes.

“The gap in your teeth looks bigger,” Steve said, trying to get under Bucky’s skin. He turned around to pretend to adjust his sock, ignoring Bucky who was still prancing around him like an idiot.

He frowned at that, but kept bugging Steve.  “Aw, c’mon, Steve, I know you like ‘em!”

That did it. Steve whirled around and jabbed a little bony finger in Bucky’s chest. “You know I like ‘em, cause that’s all I been askin’ for since last July! And you know I don’t even get to wear ‘em anyways so you just went out an’ bought ‘em like the dummy you are!”

“Oh yeah? Maybe I like ‘em just as well as you do!” Bucky shot back, clenching his fists.

“Maybe you’re just a blockhead!” Steve yelled, kicking Bucky in the knee. He let out a howl and kicked him right back to which Steve fell onto the grass.

“You big-”Bucky said, kicking Steve in the stomach to which he let out a gasp.

Steve was then seeing spots and he felt sick. He kept coughing and coughing, and Bucky’s eyes widened because he knew that he had really fucked up. He immediately dropped his schoolbooks and knelt down beside Steve, lifting up his torso so he could breathe better.

“Shit,” Bucky said as Steve kept coughing. “C’mon, pal, don’t get one of them attacks right now, c’mon, c’mon...I know I was being a jerk, but don’t die on me, I need your help in arithmetic!”

Steve laughed at that, his coughing slowly dying out and his vision getting clearer. Soon he was able to breathe normally again and even able to sit upright.

“Boy,” Bucky let out a sigh of relief. “I’m sure glad you ain’t dead. I still don’t know how to do long division.”

Steve grinned and shoved Bucky. They both knew that was a lie since Bucky was one of the best students at arithmetic and pretty much everything else. “I ain’t gonna die on you, Buck, don’t you worry.”

“Listen, Steve. I’m real sorry ‘bout being such an egg,” Bucky started.

“Yeah, you were,” Steve nodded.

Bucky shoved Steve hard and broke out laughing again. “You ain’t supposed to agree with me! Anyways, I asked you if you liked these shoes cause they’re for you.”

“What?”

“Yeah, my mom bought these cause she knew you really wanted them, but she forgot about it till we was out getting some pencils for school and I saw ‘em in the window. She says those shoes that your mom bought you are dumb as hell anyways then she says, ‘Now, don’t you going ‘round saying that, James, that ain’t nice.’ Then I said, ‘How come you get to say it?’ and then she says that’s cause she’s a grown up and to ‘run along so I make dinner in peace’.”

Steve couldn’t believe those shoes were for him. “Wait, if those are for me, how come you’re wearing ‘em?”

Bucky’s face turned a little red. “Well I like ‘em too so I thought I’d take a test drive. But you can have ‘em right now if you want!”

Steve broke into a huge smile, “Thanks a lot, punk.”

“Welcome, jerk!” Bucky said, untying the shoes.

“But Buck, you’re gonna have to wear my ‘dumb as hell’ shoes if we was gonna switch,” Steve said, knowing how clunky and ugly they were. Bucky may not have been very popular, but he was definitely more popular than Steve, and Steve couldn’t imagine his handsome best friend wearing his corrective shoes.

“Yeah, so?” Bucky said, taking his shoes off and handing them to Steve. “We’re the same size anyways so we can just share.”

Steve took the converse, knowing that they were definitely not the same size, but said nothing. He slipped on the new shoes, they were a little big, but it seemed that Buky had really gotten them for Steve, they fit him pretty well.

Bucky didn’t look uncomfortable or self-conscious at all, wearing Steve’s thick shoes that were probably two sizes too small, it was just the opposite.

“Woah, Stevie, your shoes are neato!” Bucky said, stomping around in the shoes. “I feel like I could clobber people with these bricks on my feet!”

Steve laughed and slapped Bucky on the back. “You’re a real square, y’know that Buck?”

“Yeah, but I’m your square!” he said, taking Steve’s hand as they ran towards the school, the homeroom bell already ringing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i definitely did not cry writing that last part. im such a fucking sap for schoolyard crushes


	7. Little Talks

“Man, every year I think that it couldn’t possibly get any more colder, but here I am wearing an undershirt, a long-sleeved shirt, a hoodie, and a jacket. And I’m still freezing!” Sam remarked once they got out of his car. “How are you not dying?”

Steve smiled and shrugged. He was only wearing a t-shirt and his leather jacket. “Winters now aren’t as bad as they used to be I guess, probably with the working heaters in cars and homes and all that.”

“Psh, winters are still bad.  I never had a working heater til I left Harlem, couldn’t believe I needed one here in D.C.” Sam said as they crossed the street, the wind whipping around them.

Even though it was only around 7:30, there were already lots of people running around, many in work attire, rushing to the office or in gym clothes, taking an early morning jog. Cars were honking, construction equipment was crashing, people were calling for taxis, venders were shouting. Even though it wasn’t Brooklyn and it definitely wasn’t the 20th century, it still felt familiar, it still comforted Steve. Too many things had changed, he noticed, but cities, no matter which one, were still the same busy, noisy, bustling places that Steve had always known. It  was a small constant in this life that was ever evolving, but it was something to hold onto.

Sam led them to what looked like a coffee house that said Starbucks on the front of the building. The store was ridiculously warm compared to the freezing outside, and it didn’t help that it was jam-packed with people.

“You sure you wanna get breakfast here, Sam?” Steve asked, eying the line at the counter seemed to stretch forever.

“Mmhm,” Sam nodded, inching his way towards the front. “You said that you’ve never even heard of Starbucks, and this is a problem that we have to fix.”

“Okaaay,” Steve replied, still not convinced that the coffee was going to be worth the wait. He had actually heard about Starbucks from Clint who said that he practically lived at the one by his apartment, but he just never found the time or a reason to go. The lines always seemed too long, there were always too many people… and today was no exception.

“Here, why don’t you snag us a table and I’ll order your coffee for you. What do you want?”

“Uh,” Steve said, trying to see the menu, but even at 6’2’’, it was still hard for him to see over all the people’s moving heads in front of him. After a few seconds, he gave up. “You know what? Surprise me.”

Sam smiled. “Alright, hope you like whip cream.”

“Is that really what they put in coffee now?” Steve asked in disbelief. Whip cream was something that went on desserts, not in drinks. But hey, what did he know?

“They put all sorts of things in coffee that you would not believe. Don’t worry,” Sam reassured, seeing Steve’s concerned expression. “ I won’t order you anything too crazy. Go get us a table.”

Steve nodded and tried to make his way to the back of the shop where there was a small table slightly messy, but empty. He kept bumping into people, kids running around, their parents chasing after them, baristas trying to mop up messes. Finally after several fumbling apologies and the clearing of the napkins and mugs, Steve sat down at the slightly cleaner table, relieved to be watching the chaos of the morning instead of being a part of it.

In the back, Steve couldn’t even see the line moving, but he could still see Sam which meant the line wasn’t moving at all. Trying to fend off boredom and any unwanted thoughts, Steve pulled out his phone and started to play some sort of game that Natasha had downloaded. He played as an explorer, running away from some kind of monkeys from hell, dodging tree roots and making sharp turns on a narrow pathway. It was definitely more difficult than it looked, and he grew frustrated pretty easily. But he was determined to win, growing so invested to the point that he didn’t even see Sam come up to their table.

Steve jumped when he finally noticed Sam who was laughing and pulling out a chair to sit down.

“Did you win?” Sam asked good-naturedly

“Guess I was a little too into it, huh?” Steve smiled sheepishly. “And no, I didn’t.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever beat _Temple Run_. It just goes on and on, and I was never that good at it anyways” Sam said, holding out a drink for Steve. “Here, try this.”

“What is it?”

“Try it,” Sam said, taking a sip of his own coffee.

“But what is it?”Steve pushed.

“Oh my god,” Sam laughed. “Just try it and I’ll tell you.”

“If I die, you can’t come to my funeral,” Steve mumbled as he tried whatever drink Sam had gotten him. There was in fact, whip cream to which Steve winced slightly, but there was dark, rich coffee underneath mixed with chocolate. It wasn’t half bad, a little too sweet and definitely not what he was used to but it tasted nice.

“Well….?” Sam said expectantly.

Steve nodded, “It’s good. What’s it called?”

“Dark Chocolate Mocha Frappuccino with Cream.”

“Come again?”

After Sam had explained what it was that Steve was drinking, they had debated the evolution of coffee and whether tea was better, Sam believing both were essential in different situations, Steve arguing that coffee tasted stronger, then admitting that maybe he hadn’t had the right kind of tea. The conversation was sort of trivial at first, then Steve had asked how Sam’s class was going and things had gotten more serious.

Sam talked about the different members, how some had improved greatly in the last few sessions, and others were still struggling. It was going to take time, Sam had said, healing was a long, long process that sometimes never really ended. The end goal was not necessarily to cure the trauma or resolve every single issue, but to help people deal with what was going on, to get them in a better place than they were when they started. Sam hinted at his previous offer, stating that there were always open seats. Steve smiled. Sam was so incredibly thoughtful and kind, it hurt Steve sometimes to think about all that he had gone through. He could have ended up very bitter and angry, but the opposite couldn’t have been more true.

Soon it was time to head out. They threw away their plastic cups and went back outside into the cold. Sam wanted to do some grocery shopping before his next class, and Steve was going to take his motorcycle into the shop, one of engines had been acting up. Well that’s what he told Sam anyways as they were heading back to the car. He was probably going to drive around aimlessly, looking for….

Bucky.

Steve’s hand dropped away from the car door that he was about to open as soon as he saw him out of the corner of his eye.

Bucky was standing on the opposite side of the street, hands shoved into his pockets, staring straight at Steve. People and cars that were zooming by seemed to slow down as Steve’s breath caught in his throat. It grew quiet, the sounds of the early morning city drowned out by his deafening, erratic heartbeat.

Bucky must have been looking at Steve for quite some time without him noticing because as soon as their eyes met, Bucky’s widened in shock. Before Steve could even call out, a large truck came through the intersection, obliterating his view. When Steve was able to see again, Bucky was gone.

“Steve?” Sam called, already inside the car and starting the engine.

He didn’t answer at first, just kept silently staring at the space where Bucky was only moments ago.

“You alright?”

Steve took a deep breath, and answered but continued to gaze across the street. “He was...he was right there.” He hated how his voice sounded small and hoarse.

“Who? Who was there?” Sam asked, growing concerned.

“Someone I used to k-someone I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guess what i still love sam lmao what else is new


	8. Savage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING  
> contains some suicidal thoughts, please read mindful of this

He hadn’t meant to that get that close. It was only to get a better look at Rogers. After that day, a week ago, a month ago? He was never good with dates….or maybe he had been, he couldn’t remember anyway.

After that day, he had been in and out of it, time blurring, the past and present muddled together. He would be in the back of a car, the feeling of sweat-stricken skin underneath his own hands as he choked the life out of a target who pleaded for mercy, only to find that his hands were grasping empty air, that he was alone. He would walk through a burning city, people screamed as machine gun fire spat, then he realized that it was a loose pipe, banging against the side of the building he had taken refuge in.

The memories that plagued him weren’t always horrific, but they hurt nonetheless. Bits and pieces of his past life floated into his mind, often at when they weren’t welcome or expected. A darkened theater, suddenly burst open with  light. Warm, summer air heavy with the smell of sweat and grease. The sound of loud laughter bouncing off walls. A pair of bright red shoes on soft green grass…

Yet as soon as those memories had resurfaced, they would slip away. No matter how hard he concentrated, no matter how hard he tried to hold on to them, they vanished in seconds. His memories were gone so quick that he wondered if they were memories at all and not just fabrications of his own imaging. It was quite possible, after all, he never knew exactly what Hydra had pumped into him, maybe it was medication, maybe it was anesthetics. But these things pained him. If something hurt, it must be real, he reasoned. His arm hurt at times, and that was very real, though he wished it wasn’t.

It was sometime towards evening when he remembered. He had found an abandoned basement that he been staying in for the last forty-eight hours or so. It was small, cramped, cold, and filled with broken glass, bricks, and scraps of newspapers that smelled like piss. But it was dry, out of the wind, and out of any suspicious gazes. He didn’t think anyone was following him, but it was better to be on the safe side. Usually he was sure of who was following him and how to dispose of them, but because of his recent...instability…he wasn’t sure of anything. He had just let himself in after he had scrounged the nearby dumpsters for something to eat, finding only a few cans that were mostly empty. The sun had already set by the time he had shut the door, an old, piece of rotting wood that gave him a nasty splinter as he slammed it shut. He muttered a curse, not really feeling a huge amount of pain, but annoyed that he was going to have to pull it out later.

_“Oh, c’mon. It’s not that bad, you big baby.”_

_“Ouch, yes it is! If you had to close-ow! Watch it, Steve, that hurt.”_

_“Well maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if you quit squirmin’! “_

_“....sorry...I’ll try to-Fuck! Jesus Christ, that hurt!”_

_“Okay, I’m done, it’s out. Damn, you are really the worst. What’ll happen when you join the army, huh? Who’s gonna make sure you don’t die of splinters? I sure as hell ain’t.”_

_“Aw shoot, you know you looooove takin’ care of me!”_

_“Gross, get off me! And no I don’t, you’re such a wuss, you cry over the littlest splinter!”_

_“No way! I’m the big, tough guy, remember? The dashing, brave, hero who always swoops in to save the prince!”_

_“Bucky Barnes, you are a hopeless romantic.”_

He dropped the half-empty cans he had brought in, the little tins making echos as they crashed onto the cement floor. Falling to his knees, he dropped his head into his hands, trying not to pass out. It had come from nowhere, it had lasted for more than a few fleeting seconds, and good god, had it feel so real. Things were definitely hazy, but he remembered that little cluttered apartment, the broken lock on the door that he never bothered to fix, the table set for dinner. And he remembered...a soft, small hand, gently cradling his own. Cool, smooth skin touching his rough hand, holding it, caressing it. A lopsided grin that made his heart drop in his chest.

_“Bucky Barnes, you are a hopeless romantic.”_

Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes….he repeated it, over and over in his mind until it didn’t sound like anything. He stopped and waited til it did sound like something, a name, his name. That was his name. That was his name.

_“Who the hell is Bucky?”_

That was his name...wasn’t it?

He spent the rest of the evening, holding on to that memory, replaying it over and over. Each time he did, a few things got clearer, a few things grew sharper. There were...green vegetables on the plate….a pile of sketchbooks in the corner….a dirty window cracked open. Even though some things were clearer, he still couldn’t see Rogers’ face. Everytime he tried to reach into his mind, to go deeper, to see Rogers, his memories drew darker, more blurred, out of focus.

But he had remembered. The man whose mind was wiped clean each mission, who had been told countless times that mercy and memories made you weak, who was constantly reminded that he was no one before the Winter Soldier, he had remembered. On his own, he had remembered something from his past life. He felt...he felt excited. Scared beyond belief, but excited.

He had gotten up off his feet, nervously and unsteadily, almost tripping, and scrounged the basement for something to write with. After several minutes, he came across a stub of a broken pencil. Immediately he began scribbling one of the basement’s walls, a jumble of Russian and English.

_“меня зовут Bucky Barnes.”_

_My name is Bucky Barnes._

He slowly put the pencil down, and sat down on the floor, completely forgetting about the food he had found and the splinter that was throbbing in his palm. He stared at the wall for the rest of the night, trying to conjure any more memories.

It must have been early morning because the basement wasn’t as dark as it had been, nor as frigid. He had gotten up, standing for the last couple of hours, thinking, wondering, hoping he would remember something, anything. All night, he had stared at the wall, and nothing. No fragments, no pieces, nothing. Why was he able to remember only certain parts of his past? How much of his mind was actually his own anymore? Why couldn’t he remember everything? Maybe nothing was real, maybe everything he ever remembered was all fabricated in a lab, just like him.

His frustration finally reached its breaking point as he let out a guttural yell and kicked over an empty wooden crate, which smashed on the impact.

He had made no sound when he smashed through the window of the ambassador’s home, no sound when his knife tore through the man’s chest. There was a loud wail from a child who was standing in the doorframe, sobbing at the sight of his father who lay dead at the Winter Soldier’s feet. The boy didn’t run away from his father nor from the man who had just slain him, rather he ran towards his father, screaming " _Abba! Abba!"_ as he shook the bloodied corpse, trying to will him to live. The boy kept weeping, even as he turned and looked up at the Winter Soldier, as if imploring him to help. He simply raised his gun and shot the little boy straight in the head.

He was now back in the basement, on the floor, holding his head in his hands, rocking back and forth. Heavy sobs racked his frame and it was hard to breathe. He tried closing his eyes, tried blocking out what he had just remembered. But whether his eyes were open in fear or shut tight in remorse, the only thing he could see was that little boy’s face, his cheeks still stained with tears as he lay next to his father, their blood mixing together, soaking the white carpet.

Maybe it was better that he didn’t remember everything.

 

* * *

 

Weeks passed in that basement. He spent most of the time reliving nightmare after nightmare, in a constant state of contrition, fear, and anger. It seemed that the first memory had triggered other ones, snippets of previous ‘missions’ that had been wiped or he had simply let fall from his mind, buried under a lack of a conscience.

All of the people he had killed, the old, the young, the innocent, the guilty, the weak, the strong, all of their faces flooded back to him. Maybe not clearly or in great detail or even to the point where some blurred together, but they were there. The men, the women, the children. The ones that fought back, the ones that gave in, the ones that had cried out for a god that did not save them, the ones that remained silent even unto the end. And there were so many. There was no way to count, no way to number them.

He heard the sound of one last cold breath escaping from broken chests. The wailing and moaning, growing louder and more intense. The splattering of thick, wet blood. The heavy fire of automatic weapons. The shattering of glass and bone.

He saw the wide, animal-like fear in their eyes.Their legs stumbling, tripping, trying to flee. Their bodies slumped over, heads resting in crimson crowns. Their mouths moving in silent prayer or in begging. Their mouths no longer moving.

This was who he was. He was no man, no machine, but a monster. Underneath this skin, there was something sinister and heartless that pulsed through him, something that might have been injected into his veins or something that might have been there all along. It was cold, it was ruthless, and it was a part of him. It had consumed him, it had become him. He had slaughtered all of those people, destroyed thousands of lives, torn apart hundreds of families, he had murdered each and every single person. And he had done it without hesitation, without remorse.

Why was he still alive? He wanted die, god he wanted to die. But that would have been too easy, wouldn’t it? To just slip away, to close his eyes and not see the unholy terrors that he had committed. No, that would have been too easy. To live with  his sins, to wake each day remembering what he had done. That was a punishment fit for his crimes.

But he was a coward. And he wanted the easy way out.


	9. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so im pretty sure that because this was my favorite chapter to write means im a terrible person lmao
> 
> part of me wants bucky and steve's reunion to be dark and over dramatic and all that intense shit but the other part of me really just wants steve to just nail bucky with a tackle-hug and bucky to just roll his eyes and kiss steve. we all know that the russo brothers are definitely going with the latter because i went with the former

“I’m only going to ask you one more time. When was the last time you saw him?” Steve growled, his knuckles growing white as his grip on the counter tightened.

“Look, pal, I told you, I don’t really remember,” Kelley said, inspecting his grimy fingernails. “Maybe if you and your girlfriend came back with a little more cash, then I might remember.”

Steve grew very pissed very fast. Though, when he really thought about it, he couldn’t really blame the man, after all, that’s how many people made their living these days by selling information. But when he had already given the bastard an incentive and he was demanding more, that’s when Steve had enough.

In one swift leap, Steve was over the counter, past the boxes, and had Kelley pinned up against the wall. He had his arm underneath his neck, but before he could really start on him, Kelley kicked Steve in the gut in a last minute attempt to make a run for it. Steve grunted in pain, yet the kick didn’t come close to fazing him. He kept his grip on Kelley, driving him further up the wall.

“Now either you can have your brains bashed out or you can tell me when’s the last time you saw our guy,” Steve hissed into Kelley’s now terrified face.

“Alright, a-alright. Jesus Christ, don’t kill me, you freak,” Kelley babbled, trying to squirm out of Steve’s grip but to no avail. “He-he was going through my dumpsters a while ago and that’s the last I saw him, okay?”

“How long was a while ago?”Natasha interjected. She slid over past the counter to where they were standing, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder. She gave him a look and he let go of Kelley, backing up slightly without breaking eye contact.

“A week? Two weeks? I don’t really remember, honest!” he added seeing Steve’s frown deepen.

“And you didn’t tell him to go away?” Natasha asked, cocking her head, looking mildly interested.

“Well, I was gonna actually. But he had one of those looks about him, so I left him alone. Wasn’t really doing any harm, I guess.”

“That was very kind of you,” Natasha purred.

Kelley’s face brightened and he puffed out his chest a little. “Just trying to be a good person, y’know?”

Steve tried to keep back a snort.

“He didn’t take much anyways,” Kelley continued. “Just a couple of cans, they had expired so I threw ‘em out, not good for business, y’know, people talk.”

“Mmhm,” Natasha agreed. “So he didn’t take anything else then, right?”

“Nah,” Kelley shook his head. “Anything else, I would’ve clobbered the guy, no need to get the cops involved, I always say, when you can handle things yourself. Don’t want people to think that I’m open for hobos to come rooting through my garbage. But yeah, he only snagged a few cans so I let the sucker go. Plus, he didn’t look all right upstairs and he had some pistol strapped to his back so I didn’t want to bite off more than I could chew, y’know. Don’t need to get shot at either.”

“Ah,” Natasha nodded. “Good thinking, especially if he was armed.”

“Yeah, I tend to stay away from that stuff. But I did want to make sure that he wasn’t gonna be a problem later, y’know, I got kids and all that, so I don’t need no crazy blowing up things. I told myself, ‘Kelley, it’s your civic duty, you gotta keep an eye on this guy, make sure he doesn’t cause no trouble.’ So I follow him, keeping real quiet and all, and he don’t go far, just to that basement next to Parker’s old place, y’know, the one that got flooded back in ‘98 and those business monkeys never did anything with it. He just went in, shut the door, and stayed there. Haven’t seen him since...in two weeks, since the 9th, yeah so about two weeks.” Kelley finished.

“Thank you. You have been extraordinarily helpful, Kelley. We can’t thank you enough,” Natasha said, kissing his cheek.

“No problem, no pro-”

Natasha leaned in, pressing her Beretta M9 into his stomach as she whispered into his ear, “And if you ever get so much as a thought of following us or alerting any type of authority that you spoke with us, I will blow out your intestines right after you watch me blow off your balls.”

She stepped back, and winked at Kelley, whose face had drained of all color and was dripping in sweat. Steve gave her a quizzical expression, having heard none of her threats, but followed her as she made her way towards the front door.

“We’ll be in touch,” Natasha said sweetly, waving goodbye to a dumbstruck Kelley.

Steve thought about complimenting Natasha on how she had handled that situation, it went a lot better than he thought it would, mostly because she had intervened. But then he realized that she had been programmed to handle those kinds of situations, it was a part of her, the part that put on a facade in order to extract information. She had been indoctrinated, trained, and tortured into becoming this super-spy, so she was good at this because she had to be.

“Sam, we’ve got a location. Lower level of Parker Warehouse, corner of 10th and Calver,” Natasha said into her ear piece. “Keep your distance, but make sure that you have visibility.”

“Got it,” Steve heard Sam reply. He wasn’t sure where he was, but knew he must have been close by, which made Steve feel a little better.

As they walked quickly towards the place, Steve couldn’t help but wring his hands, something he always did when he was nervous.

“How do we know he’s still there?”

“We don’t,” Natasha answered curtly, slowly down her pace to a more casual stroll seeing that more people were coming there way. “He could have easily left when Kelley wasn’t breathing down his neck, he could be miles away by now. But this is the only real lead we have, and we should take it.”

“What do you mean, ‘real lead’?” Steve asked, after they had passed by a group of tourists.

“Well Stark had a few theories, but-”

“Oh, great, now he’s involved too?” Steve grumbled, running his fingers through his hair.

“ Look, Steve.” Natasha started, keeping up her brisk pace. “Whether you’ve noticed this or not, we actually care about your well-being, I know it’s hard to believe coming from Stark and I, but we don’t want to see you end up getting hurt. Maybe you don’t realize or want to realize what Barnes is capable of but I found that out long ago.

Steve’s mind instantly went to the scar on her abdomen, where Bucky had shot clear through her.

“He’s not the same man you once knew. I know you think he is or that there is some shred of his former self in that machine, and you might be right. But you might also be wrong, and if you are, I will not just sit back and let him kill you, neither will Sam and neither will Stark, or anyone else. So don’t try and make me look like the bad guy for asking that asshole to ‘get involved’ because that asshole doesn’t want you to die.”

Steve exhaled deeply. He knew that she was right, that he needed Stark, that he needed all of them. There was no way, as much as he wanted to, there was no way he could do this on his own. He had been so selfishly stupid, trying to push everyone away when all they wanted to do was help him. Yet he couldn’t help but think that he was burdening them, that he was endangering them.

“What was Stark thinking?” Steve asked, in a sort of subtle apology.

“There is limited data on the Winter Soldier, most of it not recent. However, Stark found a scrap of security camera footage tracing him to the National History Museum, which was about two months ago. There was nothing else, no other videos, credit card transactions, no cell phone conversations, nothing. Which means one of two things: Barnes either slipped away unnoticed, which is very likely, or that he never left D.C., which is also likely,” Natasha said as they approached the warehouse.

“So this is our best bet,” Steve said quietly.

Natasha nodded and leaned into her earpiece, “Sam, you good?”

“Got you guys in my sights. Should be able to reach you nice and quick in case anything...goes downhill.”

The warehouse was crammed between several crumbling brick and mortar buildings, most boarded up with graffiti and smashed windows. Not many people were out, a few gathered around a burning trashcan, trying to get warm before the night really started to get cold. The rest were bundled up, sleeping in corners and on rotting benches. The basement was difficult to see from far away, the door looked like it was just one of the other pieces of wood and scrap metal that cluttered the side of the warehouse. But as they got closer, Steve was able to make out a worn handle and hinges.

They approached from the side, slowly and steadily until he was able to reach out and twist the handle to open the door. Before he could, Natasha stopped him, holding out another handgun.

“Here,” she said looking at him like she knew that he was going to refuse it.

“I’m not an idiot. I know how...unstable he is,” he said quietly. Those words felt strange on his tongue, as Bucky was some kind of bomb that might go off, something that was dangerous to everyone around it. Which the more Steve thought about it, the more it rang true, though he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Which is also why he couldn’t take that gun, if he took that cold piece of metal in Natasha’s hand, that would be like admitting that Bucky was too dangerous, too unstable, too far gone to be saved. That if things went south, Steve’s only choice would be to shoot him.

_He’s not the kind you save, he’s the kind you stop._

Sam’s words echoed in Steve’s head. He would save Bucky, he was not too far gone. There was hope, there was always hope.

Steve shook his head at Natasha. “I know the risks. But I’m not going to take that.”

Natasha’s face remained expressionless as she took back the gun, sliding into a holster underneath her jacket. “Figured it was worth a try.”

Steve then cautiously opened the door, the dim streetlamp light illuminating a few grimy steps. He turned back and looked at Natasha who made no move to follow him. He must have looked confused because she offered an explanation.

“I will make things worse,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Steve nodded and turned back around, knowing that even though she might not be right beside him, she would have his back. He closed the basement door, as quietly as he could. A few beads of sweat slid down his face, as he walked shakily down the steps and entered the basement.

It was a dark, dank room, with scattered empty crates and boxes, a few waterlogged newspapers, nothing more. Steve went as slowly as possible further into the room, it would have been extremely hard to see considering how pitch-black it was but his super-soldier serum took care of that. Still, Steve didn’t even notice the cans that Kelley had described until his foot knocked against one, sending it clattering across the mildewed cement. He held his breath, waiting for a reaction to the noise, hoping that there was a reaction. But he didn’t hear anyone move, didn’t see anyone.

Then he was on the ground, the wind knocked out of him, his vision went spotty. He immediately tried to get up, to push his attacker off, but he was pinned to the ground and every time he tried to move, the grip on him only tightened. His vision cleared a little and…

“Bucky?” he whispered, still a little out of breath.

Then he felt a flash of hot pain to his jaw as a fist connected to it, several times. He was still able to see Bucky, his cold, angry face hovering over Steve’s. He wasn’t quite sure, but he thought he felt a pistol being jammed into his chest.

“Who sent you?” Bucky snarled, his voice coarse and raw, as if he hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“No...one…”Steve said, trying to regain his bearings and breath.

“Liar,” Bucky hissed, driving his gun further into Steve’s chest.

“It’s me….Steve….” he wheezed, desperately trying to get through to him.

Bucky’s face, moments ago twisted in hate and suspicion, was now like a child’s, vulnerable and scared. He gazed at Steve’s face with confusion, then looked down at his own hands, one brandishing a gun, the other pinning him to the ground. He flinched as if he had burned his hands, and immediately got off of Steve, backing away, holding the gun out from him like it was some kind of infectious disease.

“I-I…”he started.

Steve coughed a few times and winced, but was able to prop himself up, and even get to his feet to get a better look at Bucky. His eyes kept darting around, as if he wasn’t sure if this was real, if Steve was real.

“It’s okay, Buck.” Steve said quietly. “No one sent me here, and no one but me knows you’re here.”

“Don’t call me that,” Bucky snapped. “Don’t call me that,” he repeated softly.

Steve nodded, even though it nearly tore him apart. He wanted to run across the room, to hold on to Bucky, to cry and never let him go. to tell him that things would get better now that they had found each other, that it would would be just like old times. But he knew that nothing, no truths, no lies, would repair the damage that had been done.

“Why...why are you here?” Bucky said hesitantly as if he didn’t want to hear the answer.

“I’m here for you,” Steve instantly replied, hating how it was so obvious to him but clearly not for Bucky. He stared straight at Bucky, meeting his eyes, those beautiful eyes that used to light up when he laughed, those beautiful eyes that were not empty, yet very tired, not cold, yet very sad. “Once I found out y-you were alive, I had to...I had to find you.”

Bucky’s gaze dropped to the floor, his brow furrowing. “You should have let me go…”

Steve slowly shook his head over and over. “I couldn’t. I can’t. I can’t let you go.”

He didn’t even see Bucky move. Well maybe he did, there was a little twitch in his face, his metal fingers curled into a fist. But he was too fast, much too fast, and before Steve knew it, he was slammed up against a wall, Bucky’s metal hand clenched tightly around his throat. He let out a gasp, trying not to focus on that pain that was shooting up his spine or the fact that it was very hard to breathe, focusing instead on Bucky’s hardened face. He must have squirmed too much because he felt his face being smashed against metal as Bucky punched him in the face, over and over again.

“Please,” Steve begged in between gasps. “Let me...help...you.”

“There is nothing you can do,” he spat, his voice flat.

“Quit...being so...dramatic you big...wuss,” Steve wheezed, hoping to god that he hadn’t gone too far.

Bucky looked like he was going to give  him another punch in the face, he even had his other arm raised. Then something flashed across his face, a look of...remorse or maybe horror. He dropped both arms and Steve fell to his knees, coughing and rubbing his throat.

Bucky had backed himself into a corner of the room, shaking his head over and over, cradling his good hand.

“Buck- shit I mean,” Steve started, but caught himself. “Please, I can help you. I know what you’re going through, I know how it feels. You’re confused and sca-”

“Do you?” Bucky cut him off, still looking at his hand. The expression on his face, it was dark and angry. He looked like he wanted to rip off his good hand. “Do you know how I feel? Do you know what it’s like to be unmade, to not know who you are or what you are? To not even know...to not even know who you were?

“Do you know what it’s like t-to finally realize what y-you’ve done?” He continued, his voice thin and brittle.“To f-finally see all of the blood that is on your name? A-a name you don’t even know is yours! No, how could you know….” he whispered, his voice cracking. Bucky was still looking at the floor, but now both of his hands were curled into fists, they might have been shaking. “How could you know...it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault you don’t know, you don’t know...”

“Oh, Bucky,” Steve said, his own voice breaking.

“Don’t call me that!” Bucky almost screamed, looking at Steve now, his eyes fierce and angry and brimming with tears. “I-I’m not him. Or maybe I was, I don’t know! I don’t know! I keep seeing...I keep seeing all of these things, and sometimes I think, sometimes I know that I caused those things, that I was a part of those things...but other times I’m-I’m not sure.”

Steve wanted nothing more than to reach out, to touch his face, to tell him, to help him remember. Yet he remained motionless. He had come so far, he had finally found his best friend and he would not be the cause of his leave.

“I can help you get through this, I can help you remember.” Steve whispered quietly. I need to help you get through this because seeing you like this breaks me, Steve thought.

“The things I do remember…” Bucky started, averting his eyes. “I wish I didn’t…”

Steve’s heart dropped. “None of that is on you, it was the people who did this to you, the KGB, Hydra...it’s not you, none of that is on you.”

Bucky was silent for a few moments. “It wasn’t their hands who pulled the trigger. They weren’t the ones that slaughtered innocent people….”

“Bucky, that wasn’t your-”Steve tried to reason.

“I’ve-I’ve killed hundreds of p-people…I...murdered children...” he said quietly. “H-how is that not... my fault?”

“Because that wasn’t you…” Steve responded. “I know you, and that wasn’t you.”

Bucky shook his head, and let out a small, bitter laugh. “How can you know me? I don’t even know me...”

“Yes you do,” Steve pressed on, not willing to give up. “Maybe not perfectly or clearly, but I know you do.”

Bucky frowned in confusion, looking at his good hand which Steve noticed had a pinkish-red slash down the middle.

“Y-you remember the time in fifth grade where you got me those red shoes that I really wanted and we got into a fight because I was mad because I thought that you had gotten them for yourself?” Steve blurted, trying to jog his memory. “Or what about the time that when I was sick that whole winter and you never left my side, completely forgetting all those dates and  Christmas parties you had lined up? Or that time when we snuck into the new picture theater and when they kicked us out, you yelled at the guy for being so mean even though it was my idea to sneak in? That one t-”

“Stop! Stop…” Bucky said, his voice trembling, hands shaking, his eyes meeting Steve’s. “Please...just stop....I-I….”

Bucky slid down against the wall until he was sitting on the floor, his head in his hands which were shaking uncontrollably now. Steve did not dare to go near him, but he did sit down across from him, not too close but not too far.

There was a heavy silence between them, broken only by his labored breathing as he held back sobs.

“It...hurts…” Bucky whispered, maybe to Steve or to himself or to no one at all. “I w-want it to go away.”

Steve started to reach out his hand towards him, but Bucky pulled further into himself. “Please...go away…” he muttered softly, his voice barely audible.

“I can’t, Bucky…” Steve replied. “I can’t leave you.”

Bucky moved ever so slightly, then he was standing completely upright, hands still shaking as he pointed a gun at Steve.

“Go,” Bucky whispered, his finger on the trigger.

“You don’t want to do this,” Steve said, slowly getting up, his hands raised.

“Get out!” Bucky screamed, his hands trembling as he gripped the gun tighter.

“You don’t want to do this, Buck,” he repeated, trying to hold back tears.

“How would you know?!” he demanded as he started to sob.

“Because I know you, the real you.” Steve reasoned, inching his way closer to him. “The real you, the Bucky that I know is still in there, doesn’t want to do this.

“Stop saying that!” he yelled, his voice going hoarse. “Stop….I-I just want this to stop!”

Bucky then pulled the trigger, not once, not twice, but three times, and then there was hot searing pain in Steve’s chest. He dropped to the ground, clutching his ribs, trying so hard not to black out.

The gun clattered to the ground the same moment the basement door crashed open. The last thing Steve saw before losing consciousness was Bucky’s wide, tear filled eyes, and his mouth, gaping open in a silent scream.


	10. Please Don't Go

**_Western Europe, January 1945_ **

“Hey,” he said softly, pushing past the rough curtain and into the small tent space. “I brought you some dinner, since you weren’t at the mess hall.”

Bucky didn’t acknowledge him, just continued to smoke while sitting on the dirt floor against his cot. Steve sat down across from him, and held out a bowl of stew, the steam a welcome warmth from the frigid air.

“It kinda stinks, the rations are low again so it tastes like toilet water,” Steve gave a little chuckle. “But it’s better than nothing.”

Bucky looked at it but made no reply, taking another drag on his cigarette. Steve was surprised that he was smoking as cigarettes were hard to come by out here, they were not to be lightly used.

“Buck….” Steve started, feeling dread creeping up on him. Bucky had been acting strange ever since he was rescued, despite the fact that a good deal of time had passed. Sometimes he would be his ever goofy, chipper, and sarcastic self, but the next minute, when he thought no one was watching, he looked like his shoulders weighed too much, as if he might collapse any second. “You alright?”

Bucky nodded, avoiding Steve’s glance. “”M fine.”

Steve frowned. He hated when Bucky was like this. They hardly kept any secrets from each other, and not letting Steve know what was going on, not letting him know what was plaguing Bucky, it hurt Steve. They used to tell everything to each other, what they did that day, who they ran into, what they ate for lunch, how shitty they felt after a long day at work. But things were different now, they had been separated for a long time, longer than any other time they had been apart. Steve had become this hero, this icon, and Bucky had become just another soldier, an average man in Captain America’s shadow. Now things were more tense, things a little more bitter. The last thing Bucky had ever wanted was for Steve to join the army, to put himself in harm’s way. And Steve felt the same way about Bucky. Yet here they both were, on the front lines, either one could die the next day. Here they both were, together by luck yet divided by change.

Steve knew that things would not be the same, he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t sure what had been done to Bucky, he wasn’t even entirely sure about himself, what they had done to make him into this super soldier. It might have changed one for the worse, one for the better. But that sure as hell didn’t mean that Steve wouldn’t continue to fight with Bucky at his side, so that when this was all over, when the world was free of the bloodshed, the terrors, and the destruction and chaos that this war had created, when the world was in some state of peace again, he and Bucky could come home. That’s what kept him going when high ideals of freedom and justice became muddled and dark. This image of Bucky lounging around on their couch, carefree and calm, and Steve smiling at him, as they listened to the city sounds on a lazy Saturday morning.

But even that hopeful dream seemed to flicker and fade when Steve would glance back at Bucky, seeing his tight and tired face.

“C’mon Buck,” Steve ventured. “I know you, and you’re not fine.”

“Why does Captain America give a shit?” Bucky mumbled quietly as he continued to avoid meeting his gaze. “So what if I don’t want some fucking soup? Why do you care?”

Steve almost laughed. “Because I’m your best friend, dumbass. I gotta make sure you’re alright cause I’m Bucky Barnes’ best friend first, Captain America secon-”

Steve then noticed the empty bottle of Bourbon that lay underneath Bucky’s cot. Shit...he had definitely been drinking, Steve didn’t notice the smell because the cigarette smoke had covered it up, but now that he knew, he could smell the sharp stench of alcohol. Whenever Bucky drank heavily, things got very dark very fast. It wasn’t often, but when it happened, it was bad. Bucky was an angry drunk. A very bitter, cynical, drunk. Steve hated when he got like this, but most times, he was able to pull him out of it. Most times.

“Well as my best friend, you can leave me the hell alone,” Bucky snapped, looking like he hadn’t really meant it, but his pride wouldn’t let him take it back.

Steve flinched involuntarily at that. He knew that Bucky hadn’t really meant it, but the words stung. He loved Bucky, but sometimes he was too temperamental and dramatic for his own good. If he wanted to be left alone, fine, Steve didn’t care. Let him wallow in self-pity and worry, Steve didn’t care.“Alright,” he said quietly, getting up off the floor and starting towards the front of the tent.

“Shit wait, no, Steve,” Bucky said, quickly getting up, knocking over the bowl of soup. “Wait I-I…”

“No, you don’t get to do this,” Steve shot back, cutting him off. Words flew from his mouth whether he wanted them to or not. “You don’t get to suddenly come back, easing all of my fears and worries, and then push yourself away? No, no,” he almost laughed, looking at Bucky’s guilty face. “You feel bad for doing this to me, Buck? Good. Because every time, every goddamn time you inch your way further from me, shove me away, act like nothing’s wrong when I know you’re not okay...every time you do that, it kills me! Okay?! I can’t take this!

“Seeing you lying on that table…”Steve continued, drifting off. “I thought- I thought I had lost you…and now, now you’re here, but you’re not! And I wish you would just let me help you, just let me know what’s going on! But no, you want to be left alone. You want me gone? Alright, I’ll leave you alone!” Steve yelled angrily, not even realizing that he had raised his voice.

“That’s not what I meant!” Bucky yelled back. “I meant, fucking hell, Steve! I never wanted you here!”

Steve was taken aback, he wasn’t quite sure where Bucky was going with this.

“All my life, all I ever wanted to do, was to keep you safe,” he mumbled, running his fingers through his greasy hair. “And now, suddenly you’re this icon with a million and one responsibilities on your back, and they’ve turned you into this super-soldier who fights the good fight, always there to lead the people into freedom, always there to put others before you, always there to put your own life on the line. I know this is all you’ve ever wanted. Hell, you’re the best guy, the only guy for the job. You’ve always been a leader, Steve. You’ve always been someone I could turn to, someone everyone could turn to when things got dark, when people needed someone who wasn’t afraid to take a stand for what he believed in, for what he thought was right. But now that you’re Captain America, now that you’re a national hero, leading troops and armies, you’re always going to be in jeopardy, people are always going to oppose you, people have tried to and will continue to try and kill you. What terrifies me most, is not the fact that your life is in constant danger, that you might die any second, but rather that I can’t always be there, that I won’t always be there to make sure that never happens. And I think….” Bucky trailed off. “And I think that you really don’t need me anymore.”

Steve was speechless for a few moments. “H-how could you possibly think that, that your only purpose is to be my guardian angel? Jesus Christ, your life is so much more than that, you have saved so many innocent lives while I was dolling up to become ‘Captain America’. You’re someone people look up to, I’ve seen the way the other Howling Commandos respect you-”

“I don’t give a damn!” Bucky burst out. “I don’t care! Can’t you see that I care about you? That I never wanted you to join the army? That I pray to god every time we go on a mission that you come out alright? So yeah, I realize I’ve been an asshole, I know I’ve distanced myself from you because believe me, it hurts me as much as it hurts you! But it’s for the better because one day, I’ll be gone or you’ll be gone and nothing will matter anymore.”

“Don’t say that! You know that’s not true!” Steve was yelling now. “You and I have been through hell and back but we are going to be okay, we are going to win this damned war, and we are going to go home!”

Bucky laughed, even in the face of Steve’s raw, burning anger. “Oh Stevie,” he said bitterly, still chuckling. “You always were such a fucking optimist.”

Steve was torn between wanting to punch Bucky in the face and wanting to sob on his shoulder.

“We get to go home, you say,” Bucky started again, his voice low and soft, eyes averting the intensity of Steve’s furious glare. “And I wonder what kind of home you mean. Well,” he let out a loud laugh, “ I know I’ll just being going back to that shithole in Brooklyn, maybe stay with Becca for a while if she ain’t too busy with school. But you, where will you go, Captain America?”

Steve frowned, confused by the question. He had always assumed…

“What, did you really think that-that they would let you just come home and lead a normal, civilian life? God, Steve, you’re dumber than I give you credit for.” Bucky said, shaking his head. “Did you really think you would just come back and we could live in that apartment til we grow old and die together? I mean, even if you do get breaks from being America’s favorite lab rat, they’ll want you on press tours and at schools and in parades and on TV…”he trailed off for a bit.

And then maybe you’ll have a nice little salary so you can buy a house for you and Peggy after you get hitched.” Bucky added. “Will it be England or America? I can’t imagine that she would want to-”

Steve had had enough, with one swift movement, he gave a shout and punched Bucky square in the jaw, sending him sprawling on the ground.

“SHUT UP!” Steve yelled. “Just shut up!” Tears were now flowing freely down his face, and he angrily wiped them away.

Bucky looked up at Steve, wiping the blood from his mouth, and no longer laughing. His eyes were wet too.

“Buck- I-” Steve started, his fists clenching in tenison. “How can you think so little of me? That I would, that I would just leave you and forget you? You’re my best friend, how-how could I ever do that? You mean so much to me, I would never leave you. It would be a cold day in hell before I even thought about doing that, god, I care about you too much, can’t you see? I love-”Steve cut himself off, looking away.

For a split second, Bucky’s face was open, raw, and utterly heartbroken as he realized that Steve couldn’t say it, wouldn’t say it. For whatever reason, he held back. Maybe he was unsure, scared, or he just really didn’t love him, that he loved Peggy instead. And for a second, Bucky couldn’t handle it.

He wanted to scream, to cry out that he loved Steve, that he always had, and that’s why he was distancing himself. Hoping and praying that he could return home to Steve after the war, to sweep him off his little feet and tell him that he loved Steve, that he always had. He hadn’t always shown it because he was scared that he would ruin their friendship and so after that kiss that summer, he kept his feelings to himself. They swept that night under the rug, burying whatever it was in the recesses of their minds. And so Bucky wasn’t sure if Steve felt anything at all, if he felt even remotely the same, but with him far away from the war and at home, it was easy to imagine that he did. And so he dreamed in muddy trenches and on long marches and in chaotic battles, he dreamed of holding Steve’s hand, of whispering his name in the night, of making him smile and laugh, and of kissing his beautiful mouth. He hoped that Steve would return his feelings, and he prayed that Steve was dreaming the same. Hell, that’s what kept him going through all of Zola’s tortures, this image of Steve’s sunny smile, his pretty pink lips forming those three words. Then he woke up to Steve, stronger, larger, and stranger, yet still Steve. And he thought he hadn’t woke up at all, that he was still dreaming. And then he wished he hadn’t woken up. All this time, Steve had been able to achieve his dreams and soar to fame and glory...all without Bucky. All this time, Steve hadn’t needed Bucky at all. All this time, Bucky had pining after someone who would never need or want him, how could Steve ever love someone like him?

 His breathing became irregular as he tried to process everything, as he tried to hold himself together. He couldn’t fall apart, not here, not now. But it hurt so much, as if a knife had been twisted and wrenched into his chest, letting him slowly bleed out. His eyes were filled with glassy tears, the crestfallen look on his face was raw and haggard, but he wouldn’t let himself break. Steve could never know how he truly felt, it would only further splinter what was left of their relationship. So he gathered the scraps of  courage he had left and easiness of lying he always seemed to carry, and then with a sigh and a smile, it was back to tough ol’ Bucky, the smart-mouth, cheery and sarcastic sniper, Cap’s right hand man.

“Christ, don’t get sappy on me Steve,” he said with a little grin. He sighed and rubbed his jaw.

Steve immediately blushed and moved to help him to his feet to which Bucky just rolled his eyes and smiled. “God, I’m sorry, Buck, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, it’s okay, I really deserved it,” Bucky said, looking at Steve. “I said some pretty awful stuff, didn’t I?”

Steve sort of nodded.

Bucky sighed again. “I didn’t mean any of it, honest to God. Well except the part about hating you for joining the army, that part’s true.”

Steve let out a small laugh and Bucky joined in.

“It’s just,” Bucky started softly, staring down at his empty hands. “I’m really fucking tired, Stevie, would you believe that?”

Steve smiled that goddamn smile that held the radiance of all the suns and stars in it and god, how Bucky hurt as he knew that he could never fully return that smile. Steve then gently clasped Bucky on the shoulder. “I’m tired too, Buck. I’m tired too.”

Bucky looked up at Steve, his eyes that were once so bright, now dim and rimmed with darkness, taking in every part of Steve.... as if he would never see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooo flashbacks...  
> i kno i kinda left the other chapter off at a cliffhanger and this is a cheap shot cause this doesnt address it lmaooo. but i really felt that this chapter was necessary so that i could really go into how complex their relationship was long before bucky even became the winter soldier. i also really enjoy writing angsty fights so theres that. but the next chapter will be up very soon and it will address that last cliffhanger, i promise lol
> 
> also HUGE s/o to everyone who has taken time to read this, leave kudos, and comments!! i really appreciate it all, especially when u guys let me know that ur suffering b/c of my work, that's how i kno that i've delivered (¬‿¬)


	11. It's Pulling Me Back

Steve slept through most of Christmas. He didn’t mean to, it just sort of happened. He had been in and out of it ever since they brought him to St. Elizabeth’s. He was sort of awake most of the time, he vaguely remembered Sam telling him that he was going to be okay, Natasha yelling at some doctor. There were flashes of white lights, white sheets, red bandages, silver medical instruments, a few faces floating in and out of focus. Most of the time things hurt, whether it was moving or breathing or even trying to open his eyes, things just hurt. Especially in his chest where there was a never-ending throbbing. Eventually though, probably due to his super-soldier serum, he was able to hold on to consciousness for more than a few minutes.

His eyes fluttered open and he immediately wanted to close them. There was bright fluorescent light that hurt to look at, but his eventually his eyes adjusted and he slowly looked around him. He was hooked up to a few IVs, but breathing on his own. He was lying on a bed, too soft for his own taste, propped against bleached pillows. The room he was in was small yet snug, with a little window, he noted how dark it was outside, and a chair in the corner.

Bucky was sitting in that chair, looking fidgety and nervous. He kept pulling his hat further down his face as if he was scared someone was going to recognize him.

“Bu...Bucky...” Steve said groggily, smiling that stupid lopsided grin of his. Bucky almost jumped at the sound of his voice. “You’re here…”

He nodded slowly, his hands clenching the sides of the chair, seeming like he wanted to get up but was too scared. His eyes kept searching Steve’s face, looking for...rebuke? Anger? Rejection? But Steve felt none of that at all.

“I’m here,” came his small, quiet, and unsure voice, sounding so raw and so very real. Steve sighed just hearing it.

“Good…Always knew...you’d be...there...for me..always knew you’d...be okay.” Steve mumbled before he drifted off to sleep again.

The next time Steve woke up, he was alone in his little room. But not for very long.

He had only been awake for a few minutes when the door slowly opened, and Sam appeared, carrying an armload of flowers.

“Hey, look who’s up!”he said cheerfully, setting down the flowers on the windowsill, and pulling up the chair. “How you feelin’?”

Steve smiled. “Doing better now that you’re here.”

“Always the flatterer,” Sam laughed. “I’m sure you’re not gonna be here much longer, but these are from Pepper,” he motioned to the rather expensive looking bouquet of flowers. “She said even Captain America should get flowers in the hospital. Even though I doubt you’ll be in here longer than a couple more days, y’know, you being Captain America and all of that…”

Steve smiled at that. Stark and him might have not always been on the best of terms, but Pepper was always there to work things out between them, occasionally even taking Steve out to lunch once when Stark had really been temperamental.  

“But seriously, man, are you doing alright?” Sam asked, looking concerned. He gently touched Steve’s arm.  “I mean, you did take three bullets straight through your chest..”

“Did I?” he asked giving another lopsided grin.

“Yeah you did, you asshole,” Sam laughed, playfully punching Steve in the arm.

Steve could tell that Sam was acting casual, like Steve’s life hadn’t been in peril...maybe it was because he was worried for Steve or maybe he was worried that it would worse if he acted like it was really serious. But Steve noticed that Sam kept looking at him up and down as if he was scared that if he took his eyes away, Steve would disappear. It fucking broke Steve’s heart. This is why he didn’t want Sam and Natasha involved, why he didn’t want anyone to get involved because he was so scared of hurting them.

“Don’t remember too much,” Steve mumbled softly.

“Well, as soon as Nat heard the gun go off, she busted down that door, and found you passed out on the floor in your own blood,” Sam said shaking his head. “She told me to stay put and keep an eye out for Barnes, but I had to make sure you were okay. I kept telling her that we should have intervened earlier, that we could’ve saved you a trip to the E.R. Nat also wants to kill you after you heal up because she said and I quote, ‘Steve is a real fucking idiot sometimes, why the hell did he take out his earpiece, I swear to God when he gets out of this, I’m going to-’ and the rest was in Russian.”

Steve winced at that. He knew that he should have listened to her, and that might have helped him not to get shot. Part of him had taken out the earpiece because he hadn’t wanted to scare off Bucky, but the other part of him had taken it out because he didn’t want Sam and Natasha to hear their conversation, selfish as it was, he wanted it to between him and Bucky alone.

“Anyways, I was kinda scared at first, I wanted to call an ambulance so damn bad, but Natasha shot me down, saying she could drive faster and get you help sooner. I’m not going to lie, I did yell at her, but she drove crazy fast and we were able to haul your sorry butt to the hospital in no time. I was pretty impressed,” Sam smiled.

Steve sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Shit...I am so sorry. I didn’t mean...I didn’t want you guys to…”

“To what?” Sam asked. “To get involved? To help?”

Steve nodded slightly and Sam shook his head.

“If you thought that we would just sit back and twiddle our thumbs while you were going through the toughest shit of your life, then you are so very wrong. You didn’t want people to get hurt, you didn’t want us getting in over our heads, and I get that. Hell, I’d be thinking the same thing if I was in your shoes. But you can’t think that you can just go through this alone, it doesn’t work like that. We’re your friends, Steve,” Sam said, looking him in the eye. “That’s what we’re here for.”

Friends….Steve had friends. As sad as it sounded, Steve never had many friends. Really, he only ever had Bucky. And that was all he ever really needed most times. Most times. But other times, times when Bucky was being a real asshole, when they had gotten in one of their more serious fights, Steve yelling at Bucky for taking shit jobs where he worked for next to nothing, Bucky shouting back, that he should mind his own damn business and he didn’t see Steve paying the rent, those kinds of fights that made him really wish he had another friend. Just another person to rely on, to relax with, to even just talk. And he got that when he became Captain America. He got Jim, Dum-Dum, and Gabe, Sam, and Dernier and Falsworth. He got that when he met Peggy, all of these people who had respected him as a person, who trusted him and whom he trusted his life with, all these people who were truly caring and loyal. And then they were all taken away from him….He woke up to a brand new world, utterly alone with no one to call a friend, absolutely no one, not even Bucky who had always been with him, long before he became Captain America and even after.

But now, now he had friends that he could wholeheartedly count on, friends that would stay by his side, friends that were there, that _wanted_ to be there for him. And this was more than he could ask for, more than anything he ever thought he deserved.

“Sam….I don’t know, I don’t know how to thank you…” Steve said sincerely.  

“You don’t have to, Cap,” he replied as he leaned in, wrapping his arms around Steve’s chest, careful not to hold to too tight on his bandages, and Steve dropped his head on Sam’s shoulders. It hurt a little, Steve’s chest was still throbbing, but it felt good just to hold onto Sam like that, close and tight, even though it was only for a little while.

“Alright man, I’m gonna let you rest. You may be super-soldier strong, but Fury said you’re definitely not strong enough to go around chasing after Barnes yet.” Sam said, pulling back and zipping up his coat.

Steve snorted, of course Fury knew about this... but he wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t surprised, it was Fury’s job after all he supposed.

“Sam?”

He turned from the door that he had just opened. “Yeah?”

“Did….did you see where he went?” Steve asked, not really wanting to hear the answer, but needing to know,

Sam was quiet for a few moments, then he looked at Steve and shook his head. “He just sort of...vanished after that night. We don’t have anything on him... I’m sorry.” Steve’s face must have said everything he was feeling because Sam then added, “We’ll keep looking, no one’s giving up, not yet.”

Steve nodded as Sam quietly shut the door. He thought that it would be hard for him to fall asleep, but he was so tired...so tired. He was completely knocked out when the nurse came in to check on him five minutes later.

                                             ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

He saw him reach out, pale fingers longing in the dark. He saw his face, broken and wrecked with raw emotion, blurting out things about a past life that he kept trying to remember. Steve always was an open book…

He saw him getting up over and over again, never letting them knock him down for long. He saw bleeding knuckles, black, swelling eyes, a bruised mouth that twisted when he shouted profanities back at those who had put him down. Steve always was a fighter…

Bucky had tried so hard to remember him, and suddenly there he was right in front of him. These things came flooding back to him, not slowly or gently, but in full force, all at once, only confusing and angering him. His head was spinning, he wanted to vomit, there was ringing in his ears, and he was trying so damn hard to keep the past and the present separate. Steve was there, talking softly to him, in that dark, cold basement in D.C. then in their warm, little apartment in Brooklyn. He was screaming at Steve, telling him to stop scaring and confusing him, they weren’t the same people anymore, then screaming at Steve, telling him to stop getting into fights, they were too old for this. He was rubbing that splinter, and he wondered what was real anymore, then Steve was pulling out that splinter, and he wondered why he hadn’t fixed that damn door.

Memories were muddled and everytime he tried to think straight, it got even worse. Steve kept pressing, kept trying to get Bucky to remember, and Bucky kept trying to run away from it all. Even though he had remembered things, the good and the bad, his childhood and his adulthood, before and after, this did not make things better. This did not mean recovery would be any quicker or easier. This did not mean that he could go back to how things were. No, all of these memories, it seemed to him, only brought pain, unbearable,pain, knowing that he could never be the same man he was, to be the man Steve knew. All he wanted….he didn’t know what he wanted, maybe to remember everything, maybe to remember nothing. He was so lost, he just needed this to stop, he needed Steve to leave, it hurt too much. He wasn’t even sure why he had shot him, he knew that he didn’t want to...

Seeing those beautiful eyes that were so warm and open go cold and roll into the back of his head, seeing thick, crimson, blood flowing freely from where he had shot him, that had brought Bucky into the present, that had made him know that he really hadn’t wanted to shoot him.

So he ran, perhaps more level-headed and things more clear than they had ever been in his life. He did not run far, in fact, not far at all. Just to lose anyone who might have been looking for him, he was not stupid, he knew Steve hadn’t been alone. Bucky hid, though he wanted nothing more than to go to Steve, to look at that face which was so wrought with the suffering that he had caused. He waited, knowing that the first few nights Steve would be kept under close scrutiny.

After a few days, he pulled back his thick hair, realizing how matted and disheveled it was, put on a baseball cap and a dark jacket, flicking up the collar to further hide his face and headed to the hospital that he had seen Steve being taken into. It was small and out of the way, nothing with high-tech or over-the-top security, but he kept to the shadows anyways. It was about 1 a.m., when he snuck in, taking advantage of the people coming in and out, those who were heading home for the night and those who were coming in to take the graveyard shift. Getting in wasn’t too hard, he knew how to avoid people and security cameras, even finding Steve’s room wasn’t difficult, he just swiped a clipboard off one of the front desks when the secretary wasn’t looking.

What was hard was standing in front of Steve’s bed, seeing him all bandaged up, bruises turned yellow, cuts stitched up. Bucky had really hurt him, and this was only what he could see. There had been cuts and bruises that he could not see, wounds that went deeper than his skin.

What was he even doing here? Why come after the one he had hurt? He was dangerous, he knew that, especially to Steve. If he kept his distance, maybe then he wouldn’t cause him anymore pain. Maybe if he just left, things would get better for Steve, for everyone. Killing himself was something that he didn’t necessarily think of too often, yet it was always there in the back of his mind, a sort of emergency exit. Wouldn’t Steve be better off if he was gone? Not the disappearing that always ensued the possibility of him being discovered, the kind of gone where no one could even dig up his bones. Steve could quit wasting his time, quit trying to chase after someone who no longer existed.

Bucky let out a quiet breath and sank into the chair across from Steve’s bed, watching him breathe slowly, in and out. He didn’t look content or at peace, just sort of resting, his mouth slightly open, his eyes gently shut. His blond hair which was normally neat and short, was getting a little long, a few strands fell across his forehead. Bucky noted the bulge of tightly wrapped bandages underneath his thin shirt, and felt a lump in his throat.

He didn’t deserve Steve, god he didn’t deserve his kindness, his persistence, his concern, or even his sympathy. After all he had done, all the red on his ledger, he didn’t deserve him at all. Especially since he had fucking shot him. Why hadn’t he shot himself? To end everything right then and there? He told himself it was because he didn’t want to hurt Steve anymore than he already had...but maybe it was because he really was stupid, maybe it was because he kept clinging on to some deranged hope that he could change.

Then there were loud footsteps outside of Steve’s room, and Bucky sank lower into the chair, tugging on his cap in case anyone came in, but the footsteps passed.

“Bu..Bucky?”

He flinched at the sound of his name, even though he was still trying to get used to it, his immediate reaction being that he was going to have two seconds to flee before someone called security. Then he looked up and saw that it was Steve who had called his name, his eyes bright and excited and open.

“You’re here.”

It was a simple statement, but it carried so much weight. Bucky wanted to run over to him, to grasp his hand one last time, to tell him that he was so sorry, for everything he had ever done, for everything he had not done. But something held him back. Fear of rejection, fear of anger, fear of himself….he didn’t know.

So he simply nodded and said, “I’m here.”

Steve smiled groggily, that beautiful crooked smile, that Bucky remembered. He remembered.

“Good…Always knew...you’d be...there...for me..always knew you’d...be okay,” he said, his bright eyes fluttering shut, exhaustion taking hold.

Steve hadn’t yelled at him, hadn’t barraged him with questions, hadn’t even asked him why he was here. He had simply said that he had always known that Bucky would be there for Steve, and that he would be okay. He said this as if he needed Bucky, as if they had always  relied on one and other, as if they had always needed one and other. That there was never a time where Steve doubted Bucky’s loyalty, that they would always end up back together. That maybe it hurt Bucky to be here, to remember all that he had been through, but Steve knew that he would be okay, maybe not now, maybe not in the near future. But someday, he would shake off the last of his demons, piece back his memories as best as he could, and rebuild his life. Someday, he would be okay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooo second to last chapter!!! one more and then this all wraps up! again, thanks so much for everyone reading this, it's been so much fun writing and getting feedback :)) 
> 
> if u want more of the cap gang after this angsty shit storm, im currently writing a really ridiculous one shot where its complete fluff with no plot and has the usual suspects. should be done fairly soon, so stick around folks!


	12. Take Me Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "O,come, be buried  
> A second time within these arms"  
> -William Shakespeare

It felt strange, being back in Brooklyn after so long. But it was a good kind of strange his supposed, like a distant memory that seemed foggy at first, yet familiar and clearer the more you thought about it.

Things were different, but he had been expecting that. Things were different when he had first woken up and even when he had come back to Avengers Tower in the fall. Yet the air was still thick and heavy with smog, the buildings were still packed together like sardines, it was still the same loud and obnoxious place that Steve had grown up in.  

He filled his lungs with cold air, breathing deeply, but not too deep, his scar would act up if he did. It had healed for the most part, and even though it had been over a year, there was still a lingering pain, a sort of gentle hum that faded in and out. Stark had always babbled on about how he should really let it heal completely, that Steve was being stupid, and how it could damage his health, how his serum would take care of it only if he let it. And maybe Stark was right, it was sort of ridiculous and in no way healthy.... but it was a reminder of him, and he was scared of letting it go.

He had constantly searched for a sign, another lead to go on, never giving up hope. Even when he had come up with nothing, when Sam could only offer his condolences, when Stark eventually shut down his scans on Bucky, when Natasha had told Steve that there was nothing more he could do, he still clung to the idea that Bucky would come around, that he would be okay. Even when he had packed up his things, told the rest of the Avengers he would be in touch, and moved into his new apartment back home in lower Brooklyn, he could still not let Bucky go. He was no longer as desperate as he had once been, yet he never stopped searching for anything that would lead to him,  never gave up hope that he would see him one day, never for a second did he forget him.

Between side covert missions for Fury and brief meetings and messages with his teammates, Steve actually had a lot of time to himself. He first tried to fill it with friends who weren’t too busy saving the world or people who needed his help, but it all felt forced, it didn’t feel like it mattered, just something to take up time. Which was good for a while because Steve was scared to be left alone with his thoughts. Old memories and fabricated ones would creep into the back of his mind, readying to spring themselves on him at the worst times. He would be catching up with Sam over the phone when suddenly he would see Bucky smiling and laughing out of the corner of his eye. Or he would wake up in the middle of the night after a particularly horrific nightmare and roll over on his side, expecting Bucky to be there and tell him that it was going to be alright.

At first, he pushed everything away, there was no point in thinking about something out of his control, no point in thinking about someone who was gone, he reasoned. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop thinking about him, he couldn’t move on. So he let these thoughts seep into his subconscious, letting them wander around in his head, until eventually he was able to confront them.

More times than he cared to admit,  he stayed up late into the night just thinking and reminiscing. He thought about a lot of things, his old life, Peggy, the Howling Commandos, the war, but mostly he thought about Bucky. Things he thought he had forgotten would resurface and make him question himself, make him question what he felt, what he had been feeling.  

He remembered...feeling warm and safe under a thick pile of blankets with Bucky at his side as they huddled together against the cold of a New York winter. Secretly feeling relieved and grateful when Bucky showed up countless times to haul his ass out of a fight. Feeling the adrenaline and happiness pumping through his veins as he raced against Bucky down the hills of Central Park. Feeling angry and hurt that Bucky went off to war, leaving him behind, then feeling alone and forgotten. The stinging, sharp sensation of fear that racked his bones as he saw Bucky lying on that steel table, and the overwhelming relief that followed once he breathed Steve’s name. The lingering hurt of seeing Bucky growing colder and more distant as the war dragged on. And the relentless sorrow and pain of seeing what he had become.

The more Steve thought about him, the more he came to realize that something else was there. This wasn’t just his friend, he was someone that Steve cared about deeply, someone who had been with him for the majority of his life, who made Steve want to be a better person, who laughed at all of his idiotic jokes, who kept Steve from getting into too much trouble, who was there for him when no one else was, who was honest and real, who was brave and kind, and who wasn’t afraid to suffer for the ones he loved. This was someone whom Steve loved.

He had always loved Bucky, but perhaps was only now realizing how far that love went,and what kind of love it was. He would do anything for Bucky, he would chase him across the globe a thousand times, he would reach out to him even when all seemed lost, and he would never stop searching for him, the real Bucky.

Looking back, he was seeing all of the pieces coming together. From the first day they met on the streets, to their confused and anxious kiss that they had tried to forget, to Steve’s jealousy of all of Bucky’s girls, to their separation during the war, to their fight before the fall….That seemed so clear now. Bucky’s raw pain and fury for all the injustice that had been done to him, his refusal to get close to Steve for fear of losing him too soon, his desire to protect and save Steve, and his heartbroken face when Steve couldn’t say that he loved him, was all because he loved Steve too.

Steve’s breath caught in his throat when he finally realized all of this, his heart pounding against his chest, his mind hammering and racing. It took a long, long time for all of it to sink it, but even then, it was still so hard to comprehend. How many years had he wasted, not realizing that the love of his life was right there in front of him? This was not to say he hadn't love Peggy, he did then and he did now. But that was a different love, something soft and sweet but nothing like the burning intensity, the raw need and the utter realness of the love he had for Bucky. It was something that had always been platonic, something he always had for him. He was only just starting to realize that it was something, far, far more.

 

* * *

 

It was definitely colder now that the sun had mostly set, the air crisp and frigid. Steve zipped his jacket tighter, trying to block out any wind. He smiled as he walked under twinkling lights still strung up and left over from Christmas. Going past the Starbucks on his corner, he thought about going in for coffee, but decided not to, it was getting late and Layla, his new dog, was probably hungry.

He had gotten her with Sam back in D.C., shortly after he had been released from the hospital, Sam making the argument that someone needed make sure he didn’t do anything dumb while Sam was busy. Layla wasn’t a puppy but god, did she act like one. She was incredibly enthusiastic, always going nuts whenever Steve took her for a walk or whenever it was time to eat. Her favorite thing to do was chomp on his shoes, he didn’t even bother getting mad anymore, he actually would buy ones on clearance racks and let her have at it. But she was also very lazy, she wouldn’t always come when she was called, and sometimes when Steve would want to wrestle with her, she would simply flop over, belly side up, ready to be scratched. He loved that dog to death, and always spoiled her.

She also helped Steve a lot with the nightmares, something he knew Sam had looked into. He would wake up breathless, drenched in sweat, his eyes wide open, or sometimes he would wake up thrashing and calling out for someone who wasn’t there. Layla would bound to his side, whimpering and covering his face with wet licks, bringing him back to reality. Steve would sigh and give a weak smile and hug her soft, furry body as she wagged her tail. She was also good for keeping him company when he really missed Bucky or she would get out her leash when Steve was moping around in his apartment. And after a few months, they were inseparable, the nightmares had lessened, Steve felt more reason to get out of bed in the morning, and his overall mood had greatly improved.

Looking forward to seeing his dog, Steve pushed open the door to his apartment building,  and waved to Betty, the doorman, who gave him one of her rare smiles. He decided to take the stairs this time, he wasn’t that tired and he only lived on the fourth floor. Walking down his hallway, something felt off. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but when he got out his keys to open the door and didn’t hear Layla going crazy like she always did when he came home, that’s when he knew something was wrong. He put the key in the lock, and turned it, then realized that he had forgotten to lock it, something that happened on a pretty consistent basis actually. He cautiously opened it, and while he didn’t have a gun nor his shield, he did have super-human strength so he raised one of his fists in place of an actual weapon.

His apartment seemed to be intact, nothing out of place, nothing that looked like someone had tried to rob him. Still, Layla did not come to the door and that bothered him, it was so unlike her. His flat was dark and as he moved into the living room, he saw two figures in the corner. Immediately, his hand flew to the light switch, hoping to quickly blind whoever was there that way he could take them out easily.

The light illuminated something that he could have never even dreamed of. There in the middle of his living room was James Buchanan Barnes sitting on the floor and petting his dog.

Steve was absolutely speechless.

Bucky looked up from scratching Layla’s ears once Steve had flicked on the lights, and quickly stood up. He wore a thick jacket that looked a little worn (but nothing like the scraps he had been wearing when Steve had last seen him) and a scarf, his hair was shorter, cleaner, his scruffy beard still scruffy but in a good, less unkempt way. And his eyes, they were still framed by dark circles, but they were brighter, warmer. His face was still pale, but his skin seemed softer, less taut as if he’d actually been eating. He looked….content.

“I-um...your door was unlocked,” Bucky started nervously. “I was going to wait outside, but your dog kept barking at me, and I didn’t want to make any of your neighbors nervous so I kinda sorta just, uh, let myself in.”

In about one point five seconds Steve had run over and flung himself at Bucky, throwing his arms around his neck, sobbing, not believing this was real. Layla wagged her tail, barking and jumping up and down, running around not sure what the excitement was about but knowing that she wanted to be a part of it.

At first Bucky stiffened under Steve’s embrace, and Steve almost regretted his actions, but then he loosened his whole body, shaking as he clung to Steve, letting hot tears slip down his cheeks. They stood there a while, just holding on to each other, both too scared of letting go, of losing what they had lost before.

Steve pulled back, and looked at Bucky, staring into those eyes which were now clear and brimming with tears.

“I can’t believe it….”Steve whispered, gently touching Bucky’s face. “You’re here.”

Bucky smiled and nodded. “I’m here.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow my first full length fic is finished!! this is a weird feeling lol. thank you so much to everyone who took the time to leave kudos, comments (i loved seeing what you guys had to say), and just reading it!! i hope you guys had as much fun reading it as i had writing this! 
> 
> i'm defintely going to be posting more work but until then, feel free to follow me on tumblr at prince-dejah.tumblr.com or shoot me message if u wanna sob about stucky or just sob in general lmao
> 
> thanks again everyone!!


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